


With a whimper

by kitundercover



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood, Dystopian Future, Fluff, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medicine, Science, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Violence, Vomiting, it's not that bad, non permanent injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-04-16 21:31:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 132,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4640922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitundercover/pseuds/kitundercover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dystopian AU. Louis has been alone for too long to remember how not to be, and Harry has too much to worry about to deal with a scrawny, wild, stranger.<br/>---</p><p>The man grips his arm tightly. “You’re not going to say anything.” It’s not a question.</p><p>Louis shakes his head, his body twitching.</p><p>“Fine.” Large green eyes survey him before letting go. “It’s cold. Take this. Wear it.”</p><p>Louis can’t help another flinch as the man’s long scarf is wrapped around his tender neck, it’s still warm. He touches the soft material. “Thank you.” </p><p>The man bears his teeth. “Don’t thank me. Don’t ever thank me.” </p><p>EDIT// Now available in Spanish and Russian!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The way the world ends

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: THIS IS DYSTOPIAN ACTION ADVENTURE AND GETS QUITE HIGH INTENSITY. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH OR THINK IT MIGHT BE TRIGGERING. Please feel free to contact me if you want to know more details.
> 
> Too much John Wyndham, that's my problem.
> 
> Thank you so much speakingwithink, my amazing beta X
> 
>  
> 
> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> A SPANISH translation is now available by the wonderful [narqotics](http://narqotics.tumblr.com/) (tumblr [POST](http://narqotics.tumblr.com/post/160527014461/portadas-y-traducciones-1-with-a-whimper)) on [WATTPAD](https://www.wattpad.com/story/106295028-with-a-whimper-%C2%BB-l-s)!  
> A RUSSIAN translation is now available by the magnificent Lady_Lina_Raspberry on [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10854672) and [FICBOOK!](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5493675)

_This is the dead land_  
This is cactus land  
Here the stone images  
Are raised, here they receive  
The supplication of a dead man's hand  
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

**The Hollow Men by T.S. Eliot**

 

It’s 11.57pm exactly when he first sees it.

Louis remembers exactly, because it was 11.57pm when Max, the waste of space that he’d spent the last three years following round like a lost duckling, broke up with him.

It’s 11.57pm, with the words ‘I can’t do this anymore’ echoing through his head when his eyes pass behind the greasy ash blonde mop to the TV on the wall, and it’s such a small, insignificant thing. Such a tiny footnote compared to the shit-show that is his life, that Louis’ eyes pass directly through ‘9 drown off coast of Chile’ and onto the tiny bright 11.57 in the corner, and the only thing he really think is _huh, I’m about to miss the last bus home._

\--

A car horn blasts faintly in the distance and Louis shakes his head to clear it. That wasn’t a car horn. Of course it wasn’t. Because there aren’t any cars. It had taken a surprising amount of time for petrol, oil, diesel, and anything else that came from an inaccessible hole in the ground to run out. But run out it had, so Louis knows he’s hearing things, however real it might seem.

The horn sounds again, nearer this time and he spins quickly in place, his mouth hanging open as a dirty white van rounds the bend of the slightly run-down country road. Its paintwork is scratched but it’s clear that it used to be white, and it’s bouncing heavily over cracks in the tarmac where nature has begun to creep back in.

There was a time when Louis would have waved his arms, would have jumped up and down shouting and smiling, but the past year has been long, and the harsh winter finally quietened his enthusiasm. There was a time before that, when Louis would have _hid_ , but he’s more experienced now, and the mystery of a working van is too much to pass up.

He takes a cautious step back, convinced at least that whoever it was would stop to investigate. Healthy mid-20’s males weren’t particularly rare, but he knew he was desirable. He could lift and carry and work, and there was always the chance that he might have technical experience that could be useful.

Louis takes another careful step as the car slows to a stop. He isn’t worried particularly, but that’s no excuse for carelessness. He shifts the small rucksack on his back. Whoever it is has a van, so they hopefully won’t be interested in stealing his things.

A blonde head leans out of the window and grins at him, all white teeth in neat rows.

“Not hiding from me mate?” The accent is Irish, and that surprises Louis even more than the clearly dyed hair.

He shrugs, pausing for a fraction too long on his answer.

“You have a car.” His voice is a little rough, and sounds strange and unfamiliar.

The man grins wider, as if that was a reasonable response to his question. “Yeah mate, it brings all the boys to the yard.”

Louis nods, because he remembers the song, but he keeps his mouth shut, because something is going on here and he’s not giving anything away until he knows what it is.

Perhaps he’s made a mistake. Perhaps he should have hid. Too late now anyway.

“Are you heading somewhere?” The tone in his voice is light and cheerful, and Louis doesn’t trust it for a second, so he shrugs again, hoping for the man to leave. “Ah don’t be shy mate, we’re miles from the nearest hospital.”

“Cars travel miles.”

The man laughs. “True enough. But I don’t know enough science to run tests on ya, and I haven’t got enough electricity to go searching for stragglers.”

An electric car then. Presumably solar. The man is most likely from a compound. Somewhere with an engineer or two.

Such a well-off compound would probably be welcoming. He could walk there – given a day of two – and check it out. If it looked stable enough he might even join them for a few weeks. Just long enough to fill his stomach a bit.

But there’s something about this man-- a little too cheerful. A little too eager. A little too clean. His chin is smooth and his shirt washed, and Louis doesn’t even have the energy for missing those sorts of things.

He stays silent, and risks tearing his eyes away to scan the surrounding countryside. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else around, and he’s pretty confident he can get away before the man manages to get out of the car. He’s always been fast.

Of course, the smiling-stranger isn’t necessarily alone.

The silence stretches out with the gentle ticks of metal settling, a sharp reminder of a past that Louis feels much too far away from. The man’s smile dims.

“Listen mate. We need news if you have it, and we’re willing to give you supplies in exchange, a place to stay maybe? You can meet new people, make friends…”

Louis takes a step back, the tips of his fingers going cold. He should have hid. _He should have hid._

His eyes scan the fields again, considering his options. His knife is tucked safely in his bag - wrapped up to avoid injuring himself. He wouldn’t know how to use it anyway. Not for this.

He takes a deep, slow breath, “…and how long would I be… staying for?”

The smile is completely gone now, Louis notices. “Ah well. We’ve all got to do our bit now haven’t we?”

Oh. Right. Shit. Shit fuck shit. Wrong decision then. A word goes through his head. A dangerous word. An ugly word.

_Farm._

He should have known the man was from a Farm. He should have fucking known.

Louis tenses his legs a little. There’s a bank behind him – if he can get up it then there’s only a short sprint across a field until he reaches the farmhouse he’s slept in for the last two weeks. He can probably make it.

“And what if I don’t feel like sharing… news?”

“I’m sorry mate. Really. But this isn’t about just one person, yeah?”

Louis is already climbing as the back of the van bursts open, two broad shouldered men jumping out and leaping after him.

He scrambles to the top of the bank relatively easily, dodging the hands that reach for him and ignoring the shouts. Not bothering to waste his breath shouting back.

The grass is long and coarse as he runs, wild flowers just starting to push up in the early spring, and the ground is damp from last night’s rain. He makes good progress, but he can hear the sounds of his pursuers.

His bag is light and Louis is fit. Of course he’s fit. He’s been living in this dystopian nightmare for the last 5 years. Unfortunately though, he’s being chased by Farmers, and there’s one thing that they have that he doesn’t.

Food.

Steady, reliable access to food. Food like carbohydrates. Protein. Things that build muscle. Things that make you strong. So it doesn’t really matter how awesome Louis’ cardio is, he realizes as his muscles start to shiver beneath him and his ankles buck. Because the fish he’d caught two days ago hadn’t been enough, and the farmhouse had already been cleaned out when he’d gotten there.

He was never going to make it really, but it had been worth a try.

The shoulder that jabs into his back is painful, but not unexpected, and the breath is knocked out of his stumbling frame as he’s tackled to the ground. The force is enough to rattle him, his vision blacking out for a few seconds, and by the time he comes back to himself he’s already bound, and it’s really too late.

 


	2. Captured

“Guys, please stop arguing, we have a guest!” The faux-blonde yells from the driver’s seat.

Louis stares blankly at the floor. So far, he’s been sitting on the hard metal seats for about 10 minutes as they drive slowly and bumpily along. He’s torn. His ass wants it to be over soon, but the rest of him is hoping for a bit more time to recover before he makes his final break for freedom.

“I’ll stop arguing when he apologizes!”

Liam. Liam reminds Louis of a golden retriever that lived a few houses down from his parents. The thought sends a slight shiver through his chest. The good memories are usually the hardest.

“I don’t think it will do any good Li. I doubt that’s the problem.”

Liam huffs. “Well it still wouldn’t hurt.”

The third member of the team just shrugs. “He was trying to get away.”

“Exactly how far did you think he was gonna get, Greg? Look at him! There’s no meat on him. He was already falling when you ground him into the floor!”

Greg shrugs again.

Louis ignores them all and focuses on his body. His legs are feeling a bit shaky, and his stomach feels heavy despite it’s emptiness, but there are no stabbing pains and his head is clear. Louis is optimistic.

He jumps a little when a hand reaches out and pulls at the twine round his wrists.

“Jesus, leave him alone Greg!”

A few more tugs start to cut off his circulation. “He needs to be secure. He might try to jump out.”

Louis really doesn’t like that voice. It’s deep and nasal and grating, and so unbelievably out of touch. He really thinks that Louis will try to get away now? Louis doesn’t rate his chances for jumping from a moving vehicle, even if his hands are the only things tied. At best there would be more bruises than he could reliably heal.

He bruises pretty easily these days.

“Nah mate-” Their driver butts in before Liam’s mouth is fully open. “He’d not risk jumping.”

“He looks desperate enough.”

“No.” There’s an edge to his voice now that makes Louis uneasy – the casual cheerfulness long gone. The van grumbles on, its mechanical sounds making Louis’ ears ring.

Minutes pas before the blonde speaks again. “He won’t jump Greg, he can’t risk the injury. If he didn’t value his life then he wouldn’t be here right now. It’s not like there are people around to save him. He’s here because he’s a survivor.”

Louis scans the van again, his stomach lurching. Perhaps from the movement of the van. Perhaps from hunger. Not from the driver’s little comment.

It’s dim in the back, but his eyes haven’t expected lights for a long time, and the morning sun is fighting to push through some of the cloud layers. There’s not much of note in the mostly empty space— nothing useful anyway. Just more of the same twine that binds his wrists.

He flexes them slightly, the material biting into his skin. He’ll have to run with his hands tied. His wrists are thin, but the bones in his hands are too big for them to slip through, and he doesn’t want a cut, or worse, a burn. He has a few medical supplies in his bag, but he won’t be able to take it when he goes.

“He had a knife.” Greg mumbles, and Louis thinks he’s probably talking to himself.

He searches the van again. Liam is staring at him with some look in his big brown eyes, but he’s a little rusty at reading facial expressions these days. He hasn’t met anyone else this winter.

There’s a shift in the air, and his eyes are drawn once more to Greg who is staring at him intently, a deep crease between his eyebrows.

“Louis,” Liam calls softly, pulling his attention back. “It’s ok, you can calm down.”

They’d gone through his things, naturally. His bag, his wallet. They'd got hold of his driving licence, his last remnant of a past life. Hearing his name again made his head itch. Greg had even tried to take his tin opener and watch, his glasses, but the driver had shaken his head and that was that.

He feels a little sick at the thought of leaving his wallet. It’s a connection to himself that he can’t stand to leave. He’ll have to come back for it, of course.

Liam reaches forwards slowly and touches the back of his hand.

Louis thinks he seems more like a dog than ever. His brown hair is clean and even, and his hands are warm and strong. Calloused. Not as rough as Louis’ of course, but still.

He focuses on Greg again. Louis is a bit out of practice with people, but Greg makes him the most wary. His hair and clothes are dirtier than the other two, and he has a butcher’s knife attached to a belt at the waist of the heavy jeans that all three are wearing.

“Louis --” Liam’s hands wrap around his to work the twine a little. His palms ache as the blood moves back through them. Liam’s fingers settle on his wrist. “Louis you need to calm down.”

“I am calm.”

He frowns as his captors jump.

“Louis?” Liam leans forwards eagerly.

The questions come one after another; where is he from? Where is he going? Is he alone? Is he hungry? Is he cold?

Louis sits back and waits patiently for the noise to stop. It gives him a headache, all those questions. His eyes scan the van once more, but there’s nothing new. Nothing to give him an advantage.

A particularly harsh jolt makes his chest hurt, and his heart flutters uncomfortably, reminding him that he needs food – or bar that – fluid to get his blood pressure back up.

Liam’s arm catches him as he slides forwards, his head a little muddled.

“Jesus Louis you’re tiny!” Louis freezes at the invasive touch and Liam seems to take his lack of vocal objection as permission of some sort because now he’s poking and prodding with his warm hands and it’s only Louis’ hard won instincts to conserve energy and avoid danger that keeps him sitting there.

It doesn’t stop his glare though. Or the single quiet “Stop.” That slips out.

But it seems that it’s enough, because Liam’s hands immediately lift, only hovering for a second as if to make sure that he doesn’t fall again.

“Shit. I’m so sorry Louis. That was out of line. I’m sorry man. I don’t want you to think we’re… like that.”

Louis gets the feeling that the babbling will continue if Liam isn’t forgiven, so he nods slowly to avoid another headache.

“I really am sorry mate. You’re just so cold, and so thin—I know that big coat makes you look tiny but I hadn’t realized--”

Liam sits upright and Louis follows suit carefully. Preparing himself for whatever point Liam was getting to.

“It’s good that we found you. It is. I know you don’t like it but you can’t carry on like this.”

The comment isn’t unexpected, and Liam isn’t even the first person to say it to him, but it hits home just the same.

“It’s Spring.” Louis snaps in his raspy voice, the barest twist of anger finally curling in his chest. If these guys are going to abduct him then he isn’t going to let them think that they’re doing him a favor.

Liam’s face scrunches up, and this time Louis does recognize the expression – confusion.

It’s Greg who chimes in, and Louis can feel his intention before his mouth even opens. “And you survived the winter didn’t you.” It doesn’t sound like a question, and what would be the point? So Louis stays silent.

“How long’s it been since you had company? How long have you been wondering alone? Like an animal? Do you even remember how to be a person?”

Louis’ head jerks a little; a twitch that he can’t contain before it’s out there.

“Ah…” The words are insidious, curling through his head and coaxing that twist of anger out. “So there is someone left in there.”

The anger is a waste. It’s a waste. But Louis can’t seem to stop it. It’s leaching out his energy, using him up. He’d expected force. But he hadn’t expected this. He doesn’t like anger. Doesn’t want it. Anger is a fire, and he doesn’t have the fuel for it.

The faint trembling in his already tired muscles turns to twitches, small spasms that he can no more control than the endless bumping of this dark, greasy van.

He doesn’t know how long they drive, after that. Greg seems satisfied with his response and Liam is sitting back, his eyes on Louis and his mouth pointing down.

A sharp corner sends him sliding down his seat, and there’s one last jolt before sudden, blissful peace descends. “We’re here,” the driver shouts from the front.

Louis is still angry, still warm inside if not out, and this time he tries to hold on to it, to keep the adrenaline. His muscles bunch and tremble for his last chance at freedom.  
The van creaks as it settles, and his sharp ears pick out the sounds of heavy boots on gravel as someone walks around to the back.

There’s a bang, and a screech, and then the van doors are pulled open and light pours in. Louis squints against it, but he doesn’t need to see.

The second there is enough space he leaps. Dodging fluidly around the blonde driver and sprinting forwards. He fumbles slightly, adjusting to his tied hands and glances briefly around himself; there’s a low stone building in front of him, so he changes course quickly, heading away.

A line of trees stand to the right and maybe this time he can make it.

He dodges again as something slams into his back. It rattles him, shakes his balance and sends him staggering to his knees, and somewhere inside his body something cracks, but he’s up again before they can stop him.

“Greg no!”

The voices sound further away, so Louis keeps running, encouraged. Energized.

His breathing is harder now, with sharp pains in his side, and he remembers the pain of a broken bone from memories that he really doesn’t want to touch. But he’s there. He’s in the trees and he’s there.

Louis speeds up further. His vision is blurry and he’ll pay for the exertion later, but he’s done it! He’s made it! The sounds of pursuit are finally gone. Everything is quieter. As if the forest is helping him to hide. Holding its breath and letting his feet move silently.

He doesn’t register the thin metal of the fence until his body is a long line pressed against it, fingers looped through the links, and with his hands tied there’s no way he can climb. But the forest is still quiet, and it’s dark now so he should be able to hide. He can still hide.

He drops to his knees slowly. The forest is so dark, and everything’s so quiet. He can hide here. Surely he can hide here.

Something large and warm presses up behind him, and he lets himself fall back. Safe… he can be safe here.

In the dark.

In the quiet.

But there’s a strange smell. Something clean. Something warm. A small shiver of fear stabs through him. He’s not safe. He’s not.

“I’m so sorry mate.” Someone whispers in his ear, as for the second time that morning, Louis’ vision goes black.


	3. The compound

The constant hum in the air is making Louis jittery. 

“Explain to me why you picked him up Niall, because I honestly don’t see what use he could possibly be to anyone.”

Oh, and there’s that.

“’s a bit harsh mate. You haven’t even spoken to him yet.”

Louis silently takes in the man standing next to his blonde abductor. He’s tall, and his shiny brown hair is clean and pulled back into a casual bun. It’s baffling really, how many resources these people seem to be wasting on hair care.

He shifts a little on the musty, worn sofa that he’s been lain on. The room is dim and there’s a heavy blanket weighing him down, but it’s warm, and soft.

“We don’t need new people and we can’t support him. I don’t understand why you were even out there.” His voice is deep, and his words are precise and presumably rhetorical, but he’s answered anyway.

“Simon came up this morning. He sent us.” There’s a crease between the driver’s – Niall’s eyebrows, and he scuffs his heavy boots on the vinyl floor.

The man shuts his eyes and lets out a long breath. “Then you can tell Simon that you didn’t find anyone.”

Louis twitches imperceptibly as his heart speeds up at the chance of freedom _._

“Can’t. He’s already been down here.”

The disappointment is dizzying, and he’s suddenly glad he’s lying down. He distracts himself, going back to cataloging his escape roots. There’s only one door leading into a bleak grey corridor, and a thin, high window that he'd never reach. It's been blacked out too, and Louis doesn't like to think about why that might be. He’ll have to be patient a little longer. He probably couldn’t run right now anyway.

There’s a pause then, and both men turn to stare at him. He resists the urge to fidget, struggling to observe both of them simultaneously.

“I’ll talk to him; tell him that it isn’t worth it.”

Louis feels that tiny spark of anger again, but it’s quickly lost in the claggy exhaustion that’s weighing him down. His fingers twitch without purpose.

The blonde shakes his head, and Louis keeps his eyes on the frowning man. “I’m sorry mate. Simon’s already requested him.”

There’s a harsh exhale and Louis tenses a little, wary. After all, there’s more than one way to deal with unwanted guests, and it’s not like anyone would investigate if he were to ‘have an accident’.

“Look,” the driver continues, “Simon wants us to keep him here for a month at most, feed him up a bit, make sure he’s strong, and then he’ll take him to the second compound and you won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

The other man glares and shakes his head, turning abruptly and stomping out. “I’m not doing it Niall.” He tosses over his shoulder.

“Talk to Simon!”

Niall is still for a while, and Louis finds himself struggling once more with the persistent buzzing in the silence.

“Sorry about that Louis.”

More buzzing. Consistent, endless buzzing. It’s creeping into his limbs, making his toes tingle.

“He’s a bit grumpy sometimes. He's got a lot on his mind.”

Louis tenses his legs, trying to keep them alert. It’s too easy to settle into the softness of the sofa, the warmth of the blanket they’ve covered him with. The pillow.

“I think he’s worried we won’t have enough food. It was a long winter.”

Louis’ eyes keep slipping shut. He forces them open again.

“But I suppose you knew that.”

The light filtering in through the corridor is brighter now, as if the sun had finally chased away the morning haze, but the rest of the bleak room is still dark, and Louis is struggling to stay awake.

The blonde is closer to the door than he was, but Louis doesn’t remember seeing him move. “You need to stop fighting us mate. We’re trying to help you.”

If Louis were in a talking mood he still wouldn’t dignify that with a response, so he waits for the anger to come.

It doesn’t.

He’s finally used himself up, and there’s nothing left to do now but rest. It’s a good thing, he thinks. Probably.

“Go to sleep yeah? Get some rest. When you wake up we’ll feed you and get you cleaned up, assign you a bed.”

The words make him flinch. When Louis was about ten he had a subscription to a football magazine. Each week a new card would come out, and Louis would lovingly collect it, place it in his special book, assign it its own place. And now here he was. A collectible, in someone else’s book.

“I’m gonna lock you in Louis. Just for now.”

He’s backing out of the door before the words register, but Louis would never have said anything anyway. For once he’s going to stop fighting – make use of the safety whilst it lasts.

Lying in the dark, he finally gives in to his body’s needs, and let’s himself slip away.

\--

It’s the click of the lock that startles Louis awake, his body jumping up into a defensive crouch before his mind even knows what’s going on. He lets out a triumphant breath at the startled look at Liam’s face.

Light washes over the room through the open door, and Louis frowns at the sight. Did he really sleep for so little time?

“Morning Louis! Good night?” Liam sounds cheerful, but Louis ignores his question in favor of focusing on the large plate in his hand. There are oranges – actual oranges, and holy shit, is that broccoli? Louis’ mouth waters in anticipation. There’s fish too, and a mess of something grey that looks like it might be clams. They must be close to the sea – Louis had been heading that way when he’d been captured. His need for reliable food finally overriding his now instinctive fear of large bodies of water. It must have taken these people a while before they were used to being so close to it. He gives a small shudder at the thought.

Liam holds the plate and a fork out, still smiling and Louis takes it carefully as he sits back down, shaking off the deep feeling of dread that had washed over him. He takes some broccoli first, shutting his eyes at the strong flavor. It’s grilled, presumably on a fire, and it tastes like heaven. A small sigh leaks out of his mouth as he chews slowly.

“I’m glad you’re eating Louis, we were worried you would be too nervous.”

Liam’s voice is surprising in the quiet room, breaking through the buzz that’s still boring into his head. He glances around himself and then down to his food. He wasn’t nervous. He is now. 

“No, no!” There’s stress in Liam’s voice that Louis has no trouble picking out. “We would never drug you or anything like that! It’s just… because you’re so jumpy and stuff, and… well I know you aren’t really sure about being here.” 

Louis keeps staring at his plate, but he swallows the mouthful. He flexes his hands around the ceramic balanced on his legs. He flexes his toes. His body feels normal. His ribs hurt – his ribs hurt a lot, now that he focuses on it, but it’s the sharp pain of an injury, it’s familiar. His stomach is tight, but not too painful, and his head is still clear. It’s probably not drugged. The rest of Liam’s sentence he leaves alone.

He takes up the fork again, spearing some more broccoli and keeps up his slow methodical chewing.

“Right then, good.” Liam seems to be brightening up again. “So this morning I’m going to be showing you around, and then we’ll find you somewhere you can sleep at night. I guess no one's told you yet, but you’re going to be staying here for a month or so and then we’ll take you to another compound and get you properly settled in.” 

Louis swallows his broccoli and tries a piece of orange. God, he’s missed oranges. 

Liam is still talking, but he’s heard enough. He stays quiet, slowly eating through his plateful. He’s not being asked anything. Liam might sound friendly, but these are orders he’s giving. Louis is still very much a prisoner.

His stomach rolls uncomfortably after a mouthful of clams. He’s never been one for seafood, but he isn't about to turn down offers of protein, no matter how much he dislikes it. He pauses for a minute, waiting for it to settle, the pain in his side amplifying the unpleasant feeling. 

“You should eat more than that mate. We need to get you a bit bigger.”

Louis hesitates for a second, but decides it's not worth questioning. If they want to waste their stores on him then that’s fine, he’s just biding his time. They can’t watch him all day. He’s stronger now, with food in him, and – assuming Liam’s good morning was honest – an alarming amount of sleep.

He finishes off the clams slowly, pausing to sneak bits of orange into his pocket when Liam isn’t looking. There’s a mysterious brown object he can't identify, so he pushes that into his pocket as well for later investigation, and, after a minute’s hesitation, the last of the broccoli.

There’s still some of the fish left, but it’s smoked and strong and he doesn’t think his stomach can take it.

“You should eat that too, Louis.” Liam is watching him again. “You need all the help you can get.”

Louis shakes his head. “No.”

“You don’t like it?”

Louis shrugs. His tastes aren’t exactly relevant. He places a hand over his full stomach.

“Oh shit. I am so sorry. Seriously. Shit--” Liam has another strange look on his face, and Louis is starting to think that it might be guilt. “I didn’t even think Louis. Of course you can’t manage all that. How long has it been since you last ate?”

Louis clears his throat, prepared for once to answer the question, but Liam jumps in before he can. “Jesus, I didn’t even give you a drink. I’m a terrible person. I’m so sorry. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

The door opens and shuts and Louis hears the lock click. No luck there then. He takes the opportunity to pull the food out of his dirty pocket, picking out the broccoli and placing the brown item and the oranges back. From his other pocket he draws one of his most valuable possessions – a large folded square of tin foil. Funny really, what becomes important when you can’t have it.

The broccoli and the last of the fish are wrapped up carefully and back in his pocket before Liam comes back, so Louis sits patiently.

Liam is panting and running a hand over his close-cropped hair when he barges back in, a glass of water proffered before him. Louis takes it thankfully and sips.

“You finished it!” Liam is all smiles again, apparently content that he is now fulfilling the role of good host. “Brilliant. So, if you’re ready, I’ll give you the tour!”

That’s not a question either.

\--

After Louis has been fed, watered, and allowed to use the facilities – “I’m so so so sorry. I’m so sorry. I forgot you’d need to… go. I’m so sorry. I’m really bad at this.” – they’re finally free of the long, one-story building that was once presumably some sort of school, and out into the fresh air.

He sniffs surreptitiously at his armpit, it's strange almost, to be smelling of soap again. He's washed himself too - in a small, ceramic bath of luke-warm water with Liam standing far too close. His hair is cleaner than it's been in months, years probably, and they've swapped his clothes for a pair of heavy jeans (women's, by the cut of them) and an old grey t-shirt and thick wool jumper. He's even got clean underwear. His old, heavy boots they've left though, thank god. New boots aren't exactly easy to come by. 

They walk slowly – Louis cautious with his injuries. He’s been taking shallow breaths because of his side, and the more his body calms down the more he feels it. One thing is better though – the buzzing is finally gone, and the large black solar panels on the roof clue Louis in to what it was. 

He'd forgotten somehow, the sound of electricity.

He follows Liam out of the empty courtyard – playground – and round a corner.

And he stops.

And he stares.

“Breathe.” Liam whispers cheerfully.

He breathes.

The must be a hundred people here, men and women, and Louis hasn’t seen that many people together in years. Didn’t know there were still places with that many people.

“It’s a bit overwhelming at first, I know. I remember.” 

“How many?” His voice is shaky, but Liam somehow picks it up.

“Sixty three. Or, well, sixty four now I suppose.” 

Louis frowns at his overestimation and tries instead to count them. He gets to 24 that he can easily see, although there are specs in the distance that suggest others. Still, so many.

They peer at him curiously, obviously interested in a new person. He wonders how long it's been since they've seen one. A while, judging by the stares.

The complex is spread over what must have been the playing fields, only they’ve been planted, and rows of plowed earth and crops are laid out with narrow walkways between. There are people tending them, digging and planting. Louis has never seen anything like it.

Liam grins. “We have to be seasonal, obviously, so we have kale and broccoli and some other veggies now – sprouts are almost over and the winter carrots were a failure. When it gets a bit warmer we start with the fruit, peas, beans and stuff. There’ll be lot more come April… The orchards are further away.”

He points beyond the neat green rows to open fields. “Then there are the wheat fields. Some are quite far away too, we had a pretty bad harvest last year and we think it’s because the ground is bad so we’re trying to rotate.”

Wheat? Oh god, bread. Louis’ hand drops to his pocket to prod the mysterious brown lump there. Bread. Not as we know it, but bread. Jesus. His mouth waters, and he's grateful that he'd managed to smuggle his stash into the new jeans. Liam apparently, was a sucker for the shy, bashful act, and had hurriedly covered his eyes at Louis' request to strip without an audience. Staring at Louis' naked ass in the tub however, was apparently another matter.

Louis got the feeling that Liam was following some sort of nursing home protocol; trying to give the illusion of privacy whilst making sure that Louis didn't accidentally drown in three inches of water. He can't blame him really; there's been enough death. 

“We also have people on shepherding duties, and then there’s people who do the spinning and tanning, people who mend stuff. There’s a clay oven, and we have an Aga. And of course, there’s engineers, doctors, teachers.” Liam continues. He has another strange look on his face, and based on what he’s seeing, Louis assumes that it’s pride.

“We’re doing well for ourselves, getting life up and running. We even have horses, so we can travel long distances.”

Louis stares at everything, at the people covering the playing fields. He jumps at the yap of a dog, conditioned by now to be apprehensive of the sound. Wild packs wouldn’t hesitate to attack someone as small as he is right now.

Liam smiles at him, his tanned face gentle. “Let me show you around and introduce you. Almost everyone that doesn’t work in the fields will be in the school. We call it our ‘base’." The grin that he gives is a little lopsided. _Embarrassment,_ Louis guesses. 

Louis nods slowly.  “And the rest?”

Liam shrugs, frowning. “That’s it mate. Or—Oh! Right, housing. There’s a small village just down the road. Most people live there. Some live in the school though… I dunno. It’s nice to have the company.”

Louis shakes his head. “No. The Farm.”

“I don’t understand mate. This is the farm. You’re looking at it.”

“Right.” He nods. That was interesting. Either Liam was playing dumb, or Liam didn’t know.

The rest of the tour is interesting, but uneventful. He sees the butchers, which is less hard to stomach than it might have been two years ago, and the mill, where wheat is hand ground into flour. The clay oven looks to Louis to be more of a kiln – comprising a sort of weird manure, grass and wood pile that’s kept under an awning outside. The tannery is a pretty disgusting room, smelling strongly of urine and kept a long way from the storerooms, where various food stocks are kept. Louis notes that they aren’t that full considering the sixty or so people here.

In pride of place is the Aga room, where the wood-burning stove is kept continuously running. People who are chilled or sick can stay there to recover. The room that Louis had been kept in seemes to be another store room, though there hadn’t been anything in there – presumably due to the harsh winter. Next to the Aga/medical room is a library, filled with books, both printed and hand-written on how to grow plants, prepare food, make clothes, and anything else that could be useful.

There’s also a cold room, a kitchen, a classroom that seems to actually still be used as a classroom, and various other rooms kept as communal spaces where people can come to spin wool or mend clothes, or presumably anything else that was allowed. The gist of what Liam seems to be saying is that everyone is assigned a job. Louis has no way of knowing exactly what is expected of the people here, but they do at least look healthy, and there are a number of smiles directed at him among the wrinkled foreheads.

The tall man with the bun, Louis learns, is in charge.

It’s society. 

It’s overwhelming.

By the time they’re done, Louis’ head is swimming unpleasantly with too much information and too many repressed memories that are trying to come back and haunt him. His chest feels tight and his back aches, and he curses Greg for being so rough when they first caught him – his rib an ever-present throb.

He’s been introduced to far too many people for him to ever remember, so he doesn’t try. He isn’t planning on staying for long anyway.

\--

Liam takes him to the kitchen for lunch, and he meets their head chef – Ed, and seamstress, Lou. Lou questions him mercilessly, until it becomes clear that Louis isn't going to answer, and then they talk quietly among themselves, clearly waiting until he leaves to give their opinions. Louis subtly stuffs more food into his pockets, this time opting only for oranges, and the strange, slightly greasy bread. He gets a few odd looks from his dining companions on the way out, but they don’t say anything, so he assumes he’s in the clear.

It’s nice here. Too nice. The kind of nice you get from people who don’t know what’s really going on.

Louis needs to get out of here.

They walk a long way that afternoon, Liam pointing out all of the land that they tend, the small huts for the shepherds to sleep in. They don’t bother guarding much, and Louis assumes it’s because there aren’t enough people around to really steal anything. It's calm - idyllic almost, and for a few hours Louis even lets himself entertain the idea of staying in a place like this. Somewhere warm, and safe, with easy access to food and clean water. It's not an option though, so he lets the idea go.

The sun is starting to sink when he makes his move. They're out in the orange orchard – the last stop before Liam shows him his bed for the night, and the cheerful man is chattering happily on about nothing. Louis doesn’t know how he manages it.

There’s a shed nearby, and Louis interrupts the noise to point. “What’s in there?”

Liam responds enthusiastically as suspected, bouncing over to the shed and pulling the door open, going inside to point out various tools as he talks. It's well stocked, Louis notes, and it smells clean and dry. The sort of place he'd be happy to sleep in, if he'd come across it on his travels.

He waits until Liam's facing away before he backs out and quickly closes the door. He has to brace himself as he pulls at the heavy bolt, wincing as his side twists uncomfortably, but in the end the metal slides across with barely a creak.

There’s a pause from inside, and then a sudden frantic banging and yelling. 

“Louis let me out! Louis!”

Liam’s escalating cries are loud in the darkening orchard, and Louis feels a brief pang of something that he guesses might be guilt, before he turns and runs. It hurts. But that’s not important.

The ground is uneven, and damp, and he stumbles a few times on fallen branches and wet grass. He gets as far as the first wheat field when a dark shadow steps around yet another storage shed.

“Going for a run?”

Greg’s voice is oily, and makes him uncomfortable. Louis changes course and keeps running, but Greg catches up easily, loping along beside him. The fields are clear of workers, but there are no trees, no cover. He has nowhere to go.

He stops. “I lost Liam.” He tries, but his voice is tight with pain and Louis thinks it probably sounds like a lie.

“Easy to get lost in those big sheds.” Greg’s mouth stretches wide, his teeth catching the last of the light.

Louis frowns. “You don’t even want me here.” He says, because it’s true. 

Greg shrugs his large shoulders and takes a step towards him. “I never said that.” 

Louis keeps his mouth shut this time. He has no way of knowing what Greg’s problem is, and he isn’t about to ask.

But it seems, he doesn’t need to. “I used to see them sometimes. People like you. People who think they’re better than we are.”

Greg bares his upper lip, and Louis does recognize that gesture – has seen it in the dogs that chase him from time to time. It’s aggression. Attack. He stays coiled, prepared to run.

“I don’t think I’m better.”

It's not a great line, but it's the only thing Louis can think of. He isn’t used to talking down humans. Can’t remember how to bend his words to get them calm and laughing. He used to be good at it, he remembers. Back when every word coming out of his mouth was loud, loud, loud.

It was the wrong thing to say.

“Stop talking!” The backs of Greg’s knuckles crack against his cheek and he staggers. “You have no right to talk! I know what you’re trying to do. You’ll twist everything and make people leave! But I won’t let you! We have a life here! It’ safe! This is a good place!”

Louis face hurts, and he feels sick, but he thinks he finally has a clue now. “You know about the Farm.”

Wrong again. The large hand darts out of the darkness, wrapping tightly around his throat. Greg’s voice is quiet. Dangerous. “You do not say that word. This is a good place. A safe place.”

The hand tightens. “You will not come here and spread your lies.”

Bright points of light are chasing the edges of Louis’ vision, but he struggles against it. He can’t afford to pass out. Not this time. His tongue clicks, but he hasn’t got the air to make words. His hands paw desperately at the fingers round his throat.

“I’ve been following you, you know. Finding out what kind of person you are. I heard you talking to Liam…” He pulls Louis closer, breathing stale air into his face. “You’re dangerous. We don’t need people like you.”

Louis kicks out, connecting with the side of a thick thigh. Greg only laughs. “You really don’t know, do you? Do you think you can go on like this? How can you not see how tiny you are? You’re weak.” He leans in closer, whispering into Louis’ ear. “You’re useless… It’d be kinder to put you out of your misery. Better for all of us… We all have to make sacrifices.”

The last of the fight goes out of him as he’s squeezed ruthlessly. It’s not that he wants to die. He doesn’t. But he’s fought so hard, and for so long, and he’s just so alone. The quiet seems welcoming somehow, and the rush of his head is loud, but peaceful. So he gives himself up to it, relaxing into the hold.

Louis isn’t sure if he’s imagining it when another voice comes out of the dark. “I’ve been following you too, you know.”

The hand loosens, but doesn’t drop him.

“You can’t kill him Greg.”

The big shoulders shrug. “Pretty sure I can.”

“Well you shouldn’t.” The response is rapid, and sharp. Louis thinks he recognizes the voice, but he doesn’t dwell on it, he focuses instead on drawing in shallow, hitching breaths. Suddenly wanting—needing to keep going now that he has the chance. “You won’t be allowed to stay in the compound. You know the rules. We can’t have people killing each other.” 

“You’re choosing him over me?”

“I’m enforcing the laws that _you_ helped make.”

“They don’t apply! The law is for people here. He doesn’t belong here. He’s dangerous.”

The second voice sounds angry now, harsh. “I don’t want him here anymore than you do! But we can’t just…”

“Louis?!”

The shout startles all three of them, Greg finally dropping him to the ground. Louis takes large, gulping breaths, holding each one for a few seconds to calm his thudding heart. He has to keep his head clear. It’s the only thing that matters right now.

It takes a few seconds for Liam to reach him, jogging up out of the dusk. “Shit Louis, why did you do that?” He nods at the other two in lieu of a greeting.

Louis stays silent, not sure if he could talk, even if he wanted to.

“Louis was just bringing us to help. He said the lock got jammed?” It’s the tall man, Louis finally recognizes. The one from the day before. The one who doesn’t want him here. He doesn’t want him dead either though, and that’s valuable information to have.

“Oh.” Liam nods. “Yeah that lock’s a bit rusty. Next time just shout something, yeah mate? You scared me.”

Louis nods slowly, keeping his eyes on the floor.

Liam kneels down next to him and reaches his hand out. “Louis, why are you on the floor?” His voice is so gentle, and for once, Louis wants to open his mouth and tell him everything. He doesn’t though. He has more self-preservation than that, and he’s starting to worry that even if he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to tell the gentle man in front of him what he knows.

“I fell.” His voice is rough, but it was rough before from disuse, so it’s probably not that noticeable.

“Well, up you come!” Liam hauls him to his feet with typical enthusiasm, but it’s the taller man that catches Louis round the waist when he stumbles dizzily. There’s a sharp stabbing from his side and he swallows back a yelp.

“Shall we go back lads?” Liam is already turning as he says it, and Greg falls silently into place beside him. Louis goes to join them, but the hand on his waist is still there.

Louis flinches, bending uncomfortably to limit the pain.

“You’re not to say anything.” It’s not a question.

Louis shakes his head, his body is twitching. It _hurts._

“Fine.” Large eyes survey him before letting go. “It’s cold. Take this. Wear it.”

Louis can’t help another flinch as the man’s long scarf is wrapped round his tender neck. It’s still warm from its previous owner. Louis touches the soft material. “Thank you.” 

The man bears his teeth. “Don’t thank me. Don’t ever thank me.” 

He gives Louis a gentle push that starts him following behind the others, and in the dark silence, Louis finally has time to think:

This place isn’t safe for him. That much is clear. But there’s food and shelter, and perhaps even people to help him. After all, if those two don’t want him here then perhaps they’ll help him escape? It might be worth a try anyway. There don’t seem to be many other options.

Still, the tall man had given him a scarf, and not wanted him dead, so that was good. He brushes his hand over the material again – cotton, well kept, rare.

Maybe, he thinks. Maybe.


	4. All is fair

“No! Liam!” Louis is too high up. He’s too high up and Liam’s going to push him. He’ll be killed.

He struggles ineffectually, but he’s still too small, and the people below are just laughing – taunting him. Liam leans forwards, a malicious gleam in his eyes. Louis isn’t good with expressions, but he’s being laughed at. He knows it. He’s going to fall to his death and Liam is going to laugh.

“Trust me Louis.” His grin is all teeth, and his voice is low and menacing when he takes a last step forwards. “Enjoy.”

The push is hard. Too hard. Louis can’t catch his breath to scream – he wouldn’t anyway. So he grits his teeth together as the air rushes past him, dragging tears from his eyes, and the ground comes closer, closer. He shuts his eyes.

The white noise in his ears turns into a sudden explosion of sound as his body is jolted sideways and the rest of the air in his lungs forced out. Pain bursts in a white-hot wash from his injured side, pouring in a scalding wave that turns icy as it pulls back. His body shivers as his muscles contract. He can’t breathe. _He can’t breathe_. Fear and adrenaline chase after the pain, confusing his senses and making his head spin.

He doesn’t know how long he stays there, but he taps his fingers against his leg, counting, _1, 2, 3,_ – a trick he’d learned from another survivor a few years back, _4, 5, 6_. Keep yourself grounded. Remind the body that it’s still alive, _7, 8, 9, 10._

“Yeah!”

The close shout breaks through Louis’ shocky mind, and his eyes snap open. He takes gulping, achy breaths. The sky is that bright white-grey of early spring; he stares at it numbly, maybe it’ll be sunny tomorrow. On the roof above, Liam is waving his arms in the air, mouth pulled wide. “You did it Louis! That was amazing! You did so good!”

Louis stares blankly from where he’s currently lying on his back in a pile of hay. There are people buzzing around him, but he can’t focus on them.

He’ll be angry at Liam later. Not yet though. He takes another sharp breath, the pain in his ribs making his eyes water.

“Sorry mate,” Niall is suddenly there, and Louis has no time to protest as the blonde jerks him up and out of the hay pile. His head spins at the change and he has to fight back the urge to vomit. “I think he’s trying to get you to talk more.”

Louis shakes his head, and Niall must think he’s responding to him. “It’s a trust exercise, yeah?”

Louis is starting to come back to himself though, pushing the pain down, back into the corner of his mind that it lives in. _It’s a trust exercise,_ he registers. _But he pushed me._ Louis doesn’t bother voicing it out loud. Doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction.

He takes a step away from Niall, who shrugs and leaves, presumably to torture someone else.

The past two days have been chaotic and overwhelming. He’s been given a bed in one of the classrooms, shared with Niall and another man, Paul, but he tends to ignore them both – Paul, because he hasn’t actually seen him yet, and Niall, because he’s still stung about his capture. The rest of his time has been spent sleeping, eating and learning about the commune.

They’ve given him his rucksack back, and he’s slowly harvesting things that might be useful – bread, soap. They don’t seem to have noticed. He keeps it all under his bed, waiting for the right time.

He jumps as there’s a loud shout and Liam comes hurtling down behind him, landing with a soft thump and laughing into the thick hay. He stays lying on his back as the giggles die down. “Wasn’t that amazing! I’m so proud of you Louis!”

Louis gives his best glare, hoping that his face still remembers how. He used to be able to give such a good glare.

“Yeah. Umm, right.” Liam stammers. Seems the glare’s working. “Sorry I pushed you.”

Louis turns away and walks into the middle of the playground. It’s been two days of solid Liam, and he’s starting to crack. He’s tired of being locked in. He’s tired of never being alone. And most of all, he’s tired of Liam’s stupid big brown eyes and smiling mouth. This isn’t a world for smiles. Not anymore.

“Hey Louis, you ok? You look a bit tired.” _Exactly._ Louis nods once at Ed, where he’s standing with Niall and Lou. Most of the inhabitants are congregated in the playground for the weekly compound meeting. Louis hasn’t been to one before, but he’s desperately hoping for it to be his last.

“He’s right babe, you do look a bit pale.” Lou, Louis had learned, had once upon a time been a hairdresser, and was responsible for the impossibly well-kept hair in the group.

Louis stares blankly at her. He’s pretty sure that he isn’t paler than usual, and he’s even surer that she hasn’t known him long enough to tell. Oh, and he was just _thrown off a roof._

She continues. “Don’t worry, you have a while before anyone’ll want you to work, and I think Simon’s planning on sending you to the second compound. It’s really nice there, you’ll be feeling better in no time.”

Louis stares.

“She’s right mate. Apparently it’s bigger than this place, and they have more horses than we do, and their library is huge.” Ed actually seems nice. If he had space in his head, Louis might even start to like him.

Louis decides to take a leaf out of their book and aggressively ignore the past 20 minutes. “What if I don’t want to go there?” He says, sharper than he intended, the lingering pain tightening his voice.

“You need to let us help you Louis.” Liam jumps in from behind them, making Louis flinch. He curses silently; he’s losing his edge in this place. “Simon said that this could happen. Being alone for too long, it’s not good for you, it makes you paranoid.”

 _And there it is._ Liam is uncoiling that ever-present twist of anger within him, like only Liam and his continuous belief that he knows better can. Louis grits his teeth and ignores it. He has research to do. “So the second compound?”

It’s Ed who answers, giving Liam a look that he can’t interpret. “Apparently it’s a bit further from the sea – that‘s one of the reasons we have to send them stores from time to time, but it’s really nice there.”

“They send letters,” Lou jumps in. “My friend went there, she’s going to come visit soon. Apparently last week one of their horses got into the stores and ruined all their meat, so we’re sending them extra sheep. I blame Simon. He should never have--”

“Lou, don’t’.” Liam chides gently.

Lou shrugs. “I can say what I like, thanks. Just because someone’s older doesn’t mean they automatically get to be in charge… I--”

“How old?” Louis interrupts before she can really get going. It doesn’t matter to him why Simon gets to be head of both compounds. What matters is that he _is._

“We don’t know.” Ed shrugs. “Definitely over 50 though.”

Louis considers that. Over 50. There can’t be many over 50’s left. He hasn’t seen anyone that old in at least 4 years. Hasn’t seen anyone over 40 in 2.

It makes sense, really, that they would follow Simon. It’s tempting to believe that someone older will have all the answers. It wasn’t as if there were many intact families left – genetics hadn’t seemed to play a part in who died and who didn’t – and it seemed to be human nature to yearn for a parental figure. Someone to tell you that it’s all going to be ok.

A flash of memory sparked – a beautiful woman with smiling eyes and long dark hair – and then another – that same dark hair fanned out and floating in a pool of water. It's not real, he knows that, he hadn't seen her die.

Louis pushes it away, swallowing hard around his tight throat. He tunes back into the conversation. Niall is still defending Simon. “Oh come on Lou. What exactly has he done that’s so bad?”

“Ok, let’s talk about that shall we?” Lou has a light in her eyes that Louis sometimes sees in the packs of dogs that chase him. He takes a cautious step back. “How about taking half our horses away? Picking and choosing who has to leave? Using our stores? Telling everyone what to do? Hell, he took all our fucking apples!”

“You’re free to leave at any time, Lou.” Liam says.

“Am I.” It isn’t a question, and Louis starts to wonder for the first time what everyone else’s stories are.

Liam turns away with a shrug.

“Ignore Lou,” Niall huffs, “Simon’s fine; she’s just sore that he put Harry in charge of the compound.”

Louis thinks about that – turns it over in his head a few times. “Harry?” Louis is fairly sure he knows who Niall’s talking about.

“Yeah, over there.” Niall nods over to the tall man with the long hair.

Oh right… Harry.

It seems a bit anticlimactic really. Louis had had a crush on a Harry once. Had even thought he was in love for a while – the man had been gentle, kind, sweet… He hadn’t been much like this one. This Harry was unlike anyone he’d met so far. More authoritative, more magnetic, more… well, just _more._

“She doesn’t like… Harry?” The hesitation is only slight, but the name tastes strange on his tongue.

Niall shrugs, twitching a little – tiny movements that Louis notes carefully. His voice is quiet when he speaks. “She doesn’t like dictatorships. Until last year Lauren was in charge – voted in and everything.”

Louis nods. He doesn’t know Lauren yet. Perhaps he hasn’t met everyone.

Niall shuffles a bit closer, and Louis’ hands spasm with the urge to make more space. “They were really close, Lauren and Harry… I mean, not like, together or anything, but they spent all their time with each other."

If there were less people around, Louis might ask why he was whispering.

“Anyway, Lauren… umm, well, she umm… she drowned.” Louis feels every muscle in his face tighten. Niall nods. “Yeah, exactly. Anyway after that everyone here was pretty rattled – I mean, we’re supposed to be the survivors and all. And Simon, well, he just swoops in and says that Harry’s in charge.”

Louis turns so that he can watch the man in question. He’s at the far end of the room, talking to a dark haired man. He’s calm and collected, but he looks tense, old.

Niall turns with him, facing Harry as he talks. “He refused at first… didn’t want the responsibility. But we were all so lost, and he knew how to organize everything because of Lauren. We needed him.”

“It’s been 8 months Ni.” Lou leans in and digs her elbow into the blonde. She sounds playful, and it’s a strange contrast to Niall’s earnest whispering. “I just think that at some point we should vote again.”

“Simon thinks it’s a bad idea.” The words are serious, but Niall laughs, pushing her away and breaking the tension he’d created.

She shrugs. “And that’s why I have a problem with Simon, and not Harry.”

The blonde snorts, but doesn’t say anything, and Louis is left to observe the two of them cheerfully pushing each other until Harry finally starts the meeting.

There isn’t much to note really, and Louis tunes in and out. Planting schedules and petty grievances don’t interest him, and nor do shepherd rotations or illnesses.

He comes back to the conversation when he hears the name ‘Simon’.

“… and we’re going to have to send them more food.” There’s a slight grumble from the crowd at that, and Harry frowns and shakes his head. “I know, it’s not great, but we can’t let them starve, and Simon’s coming himself in two days to pick it up so you can talk to him if you have an issue.”

More muttering this time, but now the tone is excited.

Louis’ stomach twinges uncomfortably at the thought of finally meeting this Simon.

“And now for the final point of the meeting.” There’s a long pause and some shuffling of feet, and Louis observes that one by one, people are starting to stare at him. His fingers curl into fists and his legs twitch. “Our latest addition.”

Louis risks a glance at Harry, only to find dark, hollow eyes staring intensely at him. Louis still hasn’t gotten used to faces, but he doesn’t like that look. Not at all. But before he can flinch away it’s gone, and the man’s eyes lift and clear. “It’s been decided that Louis here will be going to the second compound with Simon when he comes, so you have two days to quiz him on whatever you want to know, and to give him any messages to take over.”

There’s a rushing in Louis’ ears, and he feels like he’s back on the roof, waiting to be pushed.

“He is to be with someone at all times. No exceptions.”

Louis’ stomach drops and his body stills. His side throbs. He should never have tried to escape so early. Someone must have told Simon. Why else..? Simon’s coming for him in two days. He’d thought— or at least, he’d hoped that he might have more time. That he could just go along with it until they stopped watching him so closely, until they stopped locking his door at night.

That’s not exactly possible now. And worse, he’s going to be harangued tomorrow - there are already people talking to Harry in overly loud whispers and he can see a list being produced.

His hopes for a relaxed, sneaky escape are ruined.

He’s going to need help.

He turns to where the long haired man is wrapping up the meeting, watching intently. There’s something about him that makes Louis nervous, but he can’t see any other option.

He’s going to have to talk to Harry.

But first, well, first he’ll need to talk to Greg.

**\--**

Unfortunately for Louis, Greg isn’t on the list of people due to talk to him (a fairly short list, given the limited time frame). Probably, he assumes, because Harry had made the list, and Harry had also been there during his attempted murder. Or more likely, because Greg simply doesn’t want to talk to him.

Really he should be grateful. He isn’t, though.

He spends most of the day looking out for the angry man, but there’s no sign of him as he’s once again herded through fields, orchards and stores.

Weirdly enough, he finally finds Greg when Perrie – his escort/keeper for the next hour takes him to the laundry room. It’s a few minutes before the man registers though, because Louis is too busy staring with his mouth hanging open.

“Washing machines.” His voice sounds strange to his ears. “Actual working washing machines?”

Louis had been given clean clothes once it was clear that he'd be staying for a while, and he'd sponged himself down over a bucket of water. He understood now, how the clothes had been so clean. He'd also wrapped Harry's scarf back around his neck to hide whatever bruises might be there. There'd been no comments so far, so either it was working, or no one cared enough to say.

It's been a long time since he's been this comfortable.

Perrie grins at him. “Where did you think all that Electricity was going?”

Louis shrugs, because he hasn’t thought about it. The buzzing has become a constant – has worked back into his life like it had never been missing. But she’s right. It doesn’t make sense, now that he thinks about it. The car is rarely used, their food is cooked over fires or on the Aga, and there are candles for when it gets dark, made from the hives that Louis has learned are out beyond the wheat fields.

Some of it must go to heating water for the hot shower that each compound member is allowed once a week, but Louis honestly doesn’t know how much that takes, or even how much charge the solar panels and makeshift turbines can gather.

Still – _washing machines._

Louis frowns. “You can wash without electricity.” It seems a bit wasteful, but he isn’t going to risk saying that, and if he can get his clothes properly clean before he leaves he’ll be much more comfortable.

Perrie smiles, but it looks uncomfortable. “No one wants to wash everything by hand… all the water…”

Louis inclines his head, but can’t help but ask something that’s been bothering him. “The clams? The fish?” Louis had been heading towards the sea when he’d been picked up, but it was out of desperation – a need for more easily accessible food – and the thought of it still makes him shiver.

Perrie nods. “Niall goes. I don’t know what everyone told you about why he gets to drive the car, but that’s the reason.”

No one had told him anything. But it made sense.

“Excuse me.”

Louis jumps as a large dark shape moves from out of the corner. Greg is obviously on washing duty for the day and they’ve stopped right in front of the machine. It’s actually still going though, so Louis suspects that Greg just wanted to be noticed.

Perrie smiles at him, but Louis notices that the corners of her eyes don’t move. “Sorry Greg, we’re just off anyway, I’m handing him over to Reem.”

Louis spots his chance. “Actually,” his voice is slow, carefully formulating his speech. “Could I stay here and talk to Greg? There wasn’t space for him on the list. You can bring her here.”

He holds his breath, waiting to see if Greg objects or Perrie questions the lie. She smiles at him and nods. “Back in a minute!”

Louis feels a triumphant stab that quickly turns to adrenaline as a large hand clamps down on his shoulder. “It’s like you _want_ me to kill you.” Greg whispers coldly.

He shudders. “I wanted to talk.”

“Oh, you can talk now?” Greg’s teeth are slightly yellow, and far too close to Louis’ face.

He keeps his voice level. “I need to leave here.”

“You are leaving.”

“No.” Louis is starting to tremble again, his breaths shortening and the pain in his ribs increasing. Once, when Louis was 20 he’d auditioned for the lead roll in a West End production of Peter Pan. He’d prepared for months – could perform his audition pieces in his sleep, but in the last 20 minutes before he went on he’d honestly thought he was going to hyperventilate and die. He’d never learned the name of the stagehand who’d helped him that day, but just as he was picturing his body being buried in the bright green tights, the man had swept out of nowhere and taught him how to breathe. He’d not got the part, in the end, but he’d never forgotten the feeling. He shuts his eyes now, for once not fearing his memories, letting himself remember that calm voice. “I can’t go to the Farm.”

Greg lashes out suddenly, striking Louis on the side of the head. His vision blurs. “There is no farm!”

“Ok… Ok.” Louis pants, holding up his arms. He waits for a few seconds, but no more blows come. “I can’t go to the second compound.”

Greg smirks. “Well you’re going. Simon’s coming to get you. There’s nothing you can do.”

Louis takes a deep breath and decides to take a risk. “I’ll tell everyone.”

He’s expecting the strike this time, and Louis manages to dodge the first large arm before it lands, but his side makes him slow, and he can’t avoid the second. The force sends him crashing into the whirring washing machine. “Ok!” Louis coughs, “I won’t say anything.” Not if you help me, he thinks, and it’s the most important part, but he can’t catch his breath to say it. There’s a metallic taste in his mouth.

“There’s nothing to say!”

Louis shakes his head harshly.

“There isn’t.” Greg is looking at him with eyes wide, and something in his voice sounds almost _pleading_.

Louis lets the machine support him and tries to think. From what he’s seen, the compound runs like an _actual_ farm, like a community. He thinks about Lou and Ed and all of the other people he’s met so far, how normal they seem, and it hits Louis all of a sudden, that _maybe_ _Greg doesn’t know?_

Louis frowns, but his heart slows a little. “You don’t know that.”

He almost jumps again when Greg moves back. “It doesn’t matter.” His voice sounds emptier than before, less angry, and Louis wants to know why, but he’s far too wary to ask. “You can’t go around telling people these things. You’ll scare people. Make them want to leave.”

He’s not crowding Louis anymore, and his mouth is turned down, his eyes staring at the floor. _He’s sad._ Louis realizes and just like that, he finally has an idea about what might be going on. He takes a moment to gather his courage. The washing machine is still vibrating behind him. He swallows. “You lost someone?”

Louis tenses, waiting for the strike, but the fight seems to have left Greg. There’s a long, long pause, and Louis lets his mind fill with the stagehand’s voice again. _Breathe with me._

“My sister.” Greg’s words are short. Sharp. “Someone came. Someone from outside, talking nonsense about conspiracies. Whining about some sort of ‘Farm’.”

“She left.”

“She left.” Greg agrees. “She left to chase some stupid horror story and she never came back.”

Louis hunches over himself, trying to look small, non-threatening.

“And now here you are, spouting that crap again. So who is it, yeah? Who do you want to take this time? You think you can take people away on some ghost hunt?! Who even cares what’s going on everywhere else? It’s safe here. This is a good place.”

 _He suspects,_ Louis realizes. He suspects something’s wrong but he doesn’t want to know. He takes another gamble. “Just let me go. I won’t come back. Not ever. I won’t say anything.”

“Why should I?” There’s a hint of the old cocky Greg coming back.

“I’ve got another whole day here. I could tell everyone.”

“Not if I kill you.” He says it so casually.

Louis shudders. “Harry will know.”

There’s another long pause, and Louis flinches harshly each time Greg moves, but finally the large man shakes himself out of his thoughts. He squares his shoulders and screws his face up. “Fine.” He growls. Louis keeps himself as still as possible. “I’ll take you somewhere and let you go, but if you come back I _will_ kill you.”

Louis believes him. “Ok.”

“And you have to get Harry to agree – I’m not having him accuse me of murder.”

Louis nods again. “I will.”

Greg’s upper lip curls unpleasantly. “Well you’d better, because if you don’t he’ll send out a search, and they’ll send out the dogs.”

 _Dogs._ No. Louis can’t be chased by dogs. He can’t. They’ll kill him, no question. He’s still not strong enough, not fast enough. He shuts eyes tightly, trying to get the image of sharp, hungry eyes and long white teeth out of his mind.

“I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him.”

Greg nods once before he turns away, his face changing to a neutral blank. The two of them stand quietly until Perrie returns, bringing with her Louis’ next companion. She frowns at Louis, and he wonders what he must look like, but she doesn’t say anything. “You done?”

Louis gives her a thumbs up and lets himself be herded out the door.

The yapping of the dogs carries faintly over the breeze. Louis shudders.

\--

Louis’ last day is once again spent being swapped rapidly back and forth between the compound inhabitants. It’s exhausting, but for once it gives him the opportunity to pursue his most important plan – to watch Harry.

The man in question is currently sitting one table over, talking quietly with one of the shepherds and daintily picking through a plate of food. It’s a strange contrast to the rough, dangerous leader in Louis’ head.

“You need to stop staring at people bab, it’s a little creepy.”

Louis pulls his eyes away from his target, turning instead to where a short, dark woman is cheerfully stuffing her face.

Louis goes back to his own lunch, chewing slowly and methodically. It’s only been a few days, but his body already feels stronger than it has in a long time. His eyes search the room, flicking quickly from person to person.

“He’s still learning Jess, leave him alone. He needs to understand how things work here.” Says Liam.

Louis considers saying something to make himself sound less like a toddler, but he’s not sure he wants to waste his breath. Instead, he finishes his last mouthful and puts his fork down, waiting to be told what to do next.

The toddler comparison doesn’t exactly feel that far away right now.

Niall jumps in for him. “He’s not a child Liam. He’s just been on his own for a while.”

“Oh… How long?” Jess is talking to Niall like he isn’t even there. Or maybe she just thinks that he can’t understand them.

“I don’t know. Liam?”

Louis frowns. So Liam is apparently the authority for all things Louis. “He hasn’t said. I think he has trouble talking.” Liam turns to him. “Right mate?”

Louis hopes his face is as incredulous as he feels.

Liam pauses for a fraction too long, before his mouth pulls back into a grin. Louis doesn’t like it; it reminds him of being pushed off the roof. “See? I think he wants to talk but he doesn’t know how.”

He glares.

Jess turns to him with a glint in her eye that makes Louis squirm. “We can teach you! I used to be a teacher!”

 _Oh goody._ Louis hears a loud snort from Niall, and is suddenly immensely grateful that the cafeteria isn’t full today.

“Ok. Let’s start yeah? Do you still understand English?”

Louis stares.

Liam has turned away, but Louis can see his shoulders twitching.

“Right!” Jess seems to be on a roll, and Louis doesn’t really know how to stop it. “Let’s start with the basics shall we? Hi-” She holds out her hand. “My name is Jess.”

Louis stares at the hand.

“See, you shake it.” He sees her coming long before she moves, but he lets her grab his hand and pump it up and down a few times before he carefully extracts himself.

“That’s great! What’s your name?” She points at herself— “Jess.” And then back at Louis.

Louis turns desperately towards Niall and Liam, but Niall’s head is now resting on his hands and Liam is still turned away. Louis can feel them both shaking through the table.

Fine then. If she wants Tarzan, she can have him.

Louis points at himself and makes a quiet grunting sound. “Jess.” He states.

There’s a squeak from the Niall pile on the table.

Jess jumps a little in her seat. “No! No.” She grins, pointing to herself. “I’m Jess.”

Louis points to her. “I’m Jess.”

The table shakes a little harder.

“No!” She laughs, pointing at herself. “Jess!”

He points at her. “Jess.”

“Yes!” She claps victoriously and then points to him. “And you’re Louis.”

“Andyourlouis.” He points to himself. “Andyourlouis.”

There’s a choking sound from Liam, and Louis feels a strange bubbling sensation in his chest that he doesn’t recognize. It’s not unpleasant, though his body feels a bit tight.

He makes a few more small grunting noises.

Jess’ mouth is stretched wide into a smile. “No! Louis.” She points at herself. “Jess. Louis. Louis. Jess.”

“Louis?” His own words are echoed by the large red-headed man standing behind her.

They both jump.

Louis nods at Ed. “Is everyone ok?” Ed is glancing round the table, and Louis isn’t sure what he makes of it. Liam has finally turned back and Louis is surprised to see that his face is a solid red. Niall’s skin has gone blotchy and there are tears in his eyes, but he’s nodding.

“Umm. Right. You ready to go Louis?”

Louis stares at Jess for a few seconds, drawing the moment out. He turns to Ed. “Yeah, no problem. I’m done.”

There’s another pause, only interrupted by Liam’s rasping breaths and Niall’s choked giggling. When he turns back to Jess her eyes are wide and her face red. “It was nice to meet you Jess.”

As he stands he catches sight of a red-faced Harry rushing quickly from the room, but he doesn’t think much of it.

The explosion of laughter as he leaves the table makes his chest ache.

\--

By evening, he’s seen Harry a grand total of three times, and though he hasn’t really learned anything from what he hopes were fairly subtle enquiries, he’s still feeling positive.

Because Harry it seems, has a secret.

The light is getting dim, and everyone staying in the village tonight has already left. His current keeper, Nick, is feeding the horses, and seems happy enough to let Louis potter around, talking a little when the mood takes him.

Louis peers round the corner of the hay barn, taking in the layout in front of him. Nick is in the barn, but Louis isn’t stupid enough to think that he isn’t being watched right now. He might not be able to see Liam, but the other man has a fascinating habit of popping up whenever he gets a little too far away from his escort.

This is the second time that Louis has seen Harry walk into that same long, low building. Louis had asked Nick about it, and Fifi before him, but each time he got the same answer. ‘It’s Harry’s rooms.’

Rooms, as it turns out, means appartment – Harry, being in charge is given his own rooms on site, so that he can be there for anyone who needs him.

Harry having his own rooms doesn’t interest Louis.

What does interest him, is what Harry is hiding in there.

Louis creeps around the barn a little further. There’s a long strip of windows round the back, but it’s high up and hard to get to, and he’d managed to get close enough earlier to find the door locked. And then there's the emmergency exit, but that only opens from the inside. The other windows are all in plain sight with curtains firmly drawn.

Locked doors. In this place. The man is hiding something.

And it isn’t just the rooms. Louis recognizes nervous behavior when he sees it. Sees the guilty hunch of shoulders, the darting eyes, the twitchy fingers.

Oh, and there’s the fact that he’s seen him stealing bread and milk from the kitchen, which Louis honestly doesn’t understand. Harry is in charge of rationing. He has absolutely no reason to steal.

Louis doesn’t know what he’s hiding, but presumably it’s some kind of animal. Why and what, he has no idea. Which is why, he’s about to find out.

Getting round the back is easy, and somehow his vanguard hasn’t jumped out yet to push him back to safety. Unfortunately, reaching the window is not going to be easy. He creeps back to the barn. There are a number of wooden pallets that the hay is usually stacked on, but the long winter has left a lot of the barn empty.

He lifts one and starts to drag it. It’s heavy, and he’s sweating and trembling a little by the time he reaches the window. The sound doesn’t seem to have roused anyone, and Louis is genuinely puzzled about why no-one is stopping him. Part of him wants to just run now, but his bag is still under the bed, and he can’t risk Harry sending out the dogs.

He props up the pallet. It shakes as he climbs, standing maybe four foot on its side. It should be enough. His hands scrabble at the bricks, and he stretches up until his fingers reach the lip of the window.

It’s not enough.

With more effort than he can reliably manage, Louis hauls himself up. His shoes scrape for purchase, but he manages to hook his forearm along the ledge, twisting a little as he leavers himself up.

He’s just about to get his second arm secured when his strength fails. It’s strange really, because he’s expecting it, but he’s still shocked when it happens. Louis remembers being strong. Being healthy. He remembers working out, pushing past the exhaustion, carrying on.

This isn’t like that, he’s learned.

Running on empty is different. The waves of fatigue aren’t something that can be fought through. There’s nothing he can do against it, unless his body is willing to cough up some adrenaline.

He lands with a crash, kicking over the pallet as he falls, but thankfully landing on his hands and knees. There’s a loud yelp from inside the building.

It’s not Harry.

But it is something.

He picks himself up off the floor and jogs back to the barn, wincing as he's reminded of the sharp pains in his side. Nick is calling for him, apparently worried by the crash.

He waves, ignoring the man’s creased forehead and pointed looks to his hands.

That’s it. It’s confirmed.

For the first time in what might be years, Louis grins to himself, because maybe he can’t find out exactly what Harry’s hiding, but he knows he’s hiding something, and that should be enough.

\--

It’s harder, when he decides he has enough information to approach Harry, because their paths don’t usually cross. He spends the night plotting, trying to come up with a perfect scenario, and by the early hours of the morning he thinks he might actually have one.

As it turns out though, it doesn’t matter, because once the sun’s up, Liam takes him out to the edge of the first wheat field, where Harry’s waiting for him.

Louis frowns as their eyes meet. Harry’s look is once again dark and intense, and Louis still doesn’t like it. The man is fidgeting, kneeling down to tug a weed from the ground and then back up again, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Louis takes a step back.

“Simon should be here this afternoon.” That voice is so deep, it gets under Louis’ skin. Everything about this man gets under Louis’ skin. He needs to get away from here.

Perhaps it’s best if he goes first. “I need to leave.” He hopes Harry can hear the request.

Harry’s forehead wrinkles. “You are leaving.”

“Alone. Without Simon.”

Harry tilts his head to the side. His movements remind Louis of a large, dark dog. He takes another step back.

“You want to run away? Why? What’s wrong with this place? It’s safe here, and there’s food.”

He’s doing this deliberately, Louis realizes. He wants to find out what Louis knows.

Louis isn’t about to give it to him. “I’m looking for my family.” It’s only partially a lie. His mother is gone, and his twin brother and sister, but the others… Lottie, Fizzy, Phoebe and Daisy – there’s still a chance that they’re alive somewhere. It’s the reason he can't  settle. The reason he keeps moving.

Harry shakes his head, the corners of his mouth turning down. “They’re dead.”

 _You don’t know that._ “You don’t know that.”

The larger man shrugs. “You’ll never find them, there’s no point.”

 _I have to try._ “I have to try. You wouldn’t even have to do anything. Just don’t look for me.”

Harry is looking thoughtfully beyond the wheat fields, and Louis would give him time to decide, but there is no time, so he takes a gamble.

“I know what you’re hiding.”

The change is immediate. Harry freezes, and his lips curl up, baring his teeth. “You don’t know anything.” He sounds slow, dangerous.

“I know you’re hiding something. I’ve been watching you. I saw you stealing food from the kitchen. You have something hidden in the school, something that you don’t want people to know about... I’ll tell everyone.”

It’s the most Louis has spoken in a while. He coughs a little to clear his throat, the movement jarring his still painful side. Harry stalks closer, and Louis can feel each of his limbs trembling. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Louis cocks his head and stares at the larger man. He’s twitchy, his hands fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, and there’s something in his face that Louis can’t read, but he doesn’t need too – he recognizes nerves when he sees them – and all at once, Louis knows he has him.

His body calms a little, and he stills his hands as he notices himself tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. He takes a deep breath. “Why shouldn’t I?” He asks quietly.

The question is simple, but it’s all he needs. Louis has nothing to lose after all. Louis has nothing left to lose, and Harry knows that.

The larger man stamps and growls in frustration, shaking his head rapidly as long strands of hair fall about his face.

He looks frightening.

Louis doesn’t care. “I won’t tell anyone if you help me.”

Harry growls again. “I should have let Greg kill you.”

“Probably.” Louis nods.

“I don’t like you.”

Louis nods again, and shrugs. “But you _are_ going to help me.” He presses, twisting his mouth into an unfamiliar smirk as Harry finally hangs his head.

He’s absolutely still as he waits. Patience has never been an issue for him – well, not in the last year anyway. Past Louis would have been jumping out of his skin by now.

“Fine.” The victory makes his stomach tingle, though he keeps quiet. Dark eyes are glaring up at him from behind thick wavy hair. They look angry. Wild.

That’s ok.

Louis nods back and holds out his hand, and Harry grips it, hard.

That’s ok too.

After all, he doesn’t need the man to like him. He backs away slowly. “I don’t need you to do anything. Just make sure they don’t come after me.”

Harry nods.

His hesitant steps turn into a light jog, not turning back until he’s through the compound door.

He’s done it. He’s getting out of here.

A sudden question of what Harry wanted to talk to him about in the first place flashes through his mind, but it’s gone before he can worry about it.

He’s done it. He’s getting out of here.


	5. The escape

It’s early afternoon when Greg comes to collect Louis. Simon is expected to arrive before lunch in his own car, and Harry has suggested that Louis takes one last tour before he leaves. Liam and the others are expecting him back at lunch to say goodbye. He feels strangely hollow when he thinks about that.

Louis hefts his rucksack higher on his back, struggling a little with the weight of it as they walk towards the barn. “Where is everyone?”

Louis had expected Greg to simply walk with him to one of the furthest fields and let him go, but it seems that there’s a different plan in place.

“Harry sent them down to the basketball courts; we’re starting work on the new barn today.” Greg sounds bored. Louis takes that as a good sign, and tries to push back his own anxiety.

“Convenient.” He remarks.

Greg snorts. “Not really. The build was supposed to start in a month, when the weather’s better. Harry’s taking a big risk for you. I have no idea why.”

 _Because he doesn’t want me to talk_.

Louis keeps his mouth shut.

They stop when they reach the large chicken coop. The gentle clucking mixes with cries from a lone seagull, and the whistling of the wind through the trees. The sky is cloudy, and Louis is grateful – rain would make his escape dangerous, and sun would make him more visible. He might not have camped much as a child, but he thinks he’s become a pretty good woodsman in the past few years. All he needs is a proper head start and he’s sure he can do this.

The wind burrows under his heavy coat making him shiver. He actually might miss the compound a little – the warmth, the food. He's taking the scarf with him though, and a nice supply of rations and soap, and he's back in his old clothes again, but they're clean and dry.

Greg is fiddling with the mesh on the wooden door; there’s a corner that seems to be loose, and Louis watches curiously as the large man wrenches it further and then sprinkles a handful of grain from his pockets.

He straightens up and stares at Louis, a small crease between his eyebrows. “I don’t know why you’re bothering with this. It’s not like you have anywhere to go.”

“You know why.”

Greg frowns harder. “We aren’t talking about this.” He snaps.

Louis nods, but it seems Greg isn’t finished. “You have nowhere to go and its March, you’re going to starve.”

 _Why do you care?_ Louis thinks, but it’s not worth saying. “I’m looking for my sisters.”

“They’re dead.”

It’s the same thing that Harry had said, and Louis doesn’t like it any better the second time. They might be dead. But he isn’t about to stop looking, so he shrugs. “What else is there?”

The two of them watch silently as the first chicken squeezes through the mesh, pecking happily at the trail of grain.

Greg huffs and looks away. “You should find somewhere to stay, somewhere with people. Not here, but… somewhere.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to die out there!” growls Greg.

Another chicken pushes through the door. Louis frowns at it. “You wanted to kill me.”

“I don’t want you here.” Greg shakes his head. “But we can’t afford to loose anyone else.”

 _We._ Louis wonders when they’d all stopped thinking of ‘we’ in terms of family and friends and started thinking instead about their species.

Two more chickens hop out. For a second Louis considers telling Greg everything – about the small compound he’d stayed at for six months, and the people who’d become family. He thinks about telling him about the group who’d raided them, about doctors and hospitals and experiments, about dogs and being hunted, and about running, and running, and running.

Instead he shrugs, wincing a little at the pull in his ribs. “It’s spring. I can look after myself.”

“Fine.” There’s a hint of anger in Greg’s voice.

A few more chickens scurry through the hole in the door – it’s bigger now, and the remainder are pecking around it with interest.

“You should go.”

Louis glances around nervously. “Won’t someone notice?”

Greg’s mouth stretches wide, and Louis is finally starting to recognize a grin when he sees one. “They’re probably a bit busy.” He looks down. “The chickens seem to have escaped.”

 _Oh._ “I— Thank you.”

Greg shakes his head. “Go.”

\--

Louis crouches low, taking darting glances around each corner before running to the next one. The building is empty now, but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.

It’s a good plan, really. There’s more cover out the front of the building – the woods butting up against the country track. He can take the road for a while to cover more ground and then cut through the forest. He’ll need to find water quickly, but he’s gotten quite good at that, and its Britain in early spring – it’s bound to rain.

It’s anticlimactic when he finally sprints through the front entrance. He spins quickly; there’s a shallow line of trees against a fence, and two cars are parked in the gravel-lined courtyard. He stills.

It’s—it’s _small._

Louis spins again.

It’s _so small._

He can’t tear his eyes away from the fence, trying to align his memories of running through those trees with what he can see in front of him. There’s no dark forest, no huge driveway…

Had he even been running? Louis can’t get the image out of his head now – his skinny, exhausted body stumbling towards the single line of trees. No wonder they hadn’t run after him.

Louis shudders. He should go. He really, really should.

“Freedom can be a little overwhelming can’t it?”

Louis’ heart stops.

“Louis. It’s a pleasure to meet you properly.”

His body goes cold.

There’s a man coming out from around the second car.

_The second car._

He’s got dark hair, and there’s something in his eyes that makes Louis take a step back. He’s holding himself casually, white teeth bared. Louis can feel the adrenaline slam into his body, can feel his muscles spasm with it, his heart start to sprint. His body shakes, his stomach drops, his mouth goes dry, and every instinct he’s spent 4 years honing screams _danger._

The man holds out his hand. “I’m Simon.”

Louis runs.

He gets to the end of the drive before something small and hard crunches into his shoulder, sending him spinning, skidding to the ground.

“Really, there’ no need Louis.”

Louis scrambles up, sliding on the gravel. His ribs are excruciating, but adrenaline drowns out the pain.

“Stop.”

Louis doesn’t know why he obeys. He’s twitchy, jumping slightly, but Simon is further away now, and Louis is prepared. “I’m not coming with you.”

Simon shakes his head. “There’s nothing to be nervous about Louis, I’m sure you’ll love the second compound.”

“I don’t want to go there.”

Simon shrugs. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”

Louis runs.

This time he tries to be smarter about it – he checks behind himself, turns so that the next expertly thrown rock bounces harmlessly off his rucksack. He breaks out of the courtyard, and when he turns Simon is standing in exactly the same place, making no move to follow.

Somehow it makes Louis even more nervous.

He veers off the road, pushing instead between large fir trees and overgrown brambles. The ground is damp beneath his heavy boots, but a deep thatch of pine needles help him to keep his balance. He jumps a small stream, cursing as wet mud splashes up the leg of his jeans, but he pushes on, and on. He can hear something moving to his left – catches sight of a tall, dark man. He turns quickly, running away. His heart is thudding and he’s starting to tire, but he keeps going, dodging between trees, past bushes, back over the small stream. He’s lost all sense of direction now, but it doesn’t matter – he’s heading _away._ Away from the sounds, away from pursuit.  

The pain in his ribs is turning his stomach, making him sick, but still he runs, until eventually, the trees give way to road again, and the forest is quiet and Louis stops.

“That was quite well done.”

Louis feels like crying.

“You made it further than I though you would.”

He turns his head, and Simon’s there, an expression on his face that Louis can’t read, but he’s not smiling. The tall, dark man is standing next to him – not even out of breath. His eyes are large and brown, and Louis thinks that they might even be a bit sad, but he’s not sure.

“Luckily Zayn here is an excellent sheepdog.”

The dark man doesn’t even twitch.

Louis is panting messily, his coat is ripped, and his jeans are muddy. He wonders if he looks as desperate as he feels.

“So.” Simon doesn’t seem to mind that his conversation is one sided. “You don’t want to come to the second compound.”

Louis shakes his head harshly, too rattled to be calm, and too hurt to be patient.

“Tell me why.”

He shakes his head again. There’s no point in secrets. No point. He just needs a second to get his breath back, to thing past his aching side. Just a little time to recharge… There’s a sharp drop on the other side of the road. He wasn’t going to risk it before but now… “Farm--” Louis pants. “Cages--”

Simon snorts. “We don’t keep our stock in cages Louis. Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll get your own room like all the rest.”

 _Stock._ Louis thinks he really might be sick. “…human.” He manages.

Simon’s voice is hard. “Exactly Louis. We’re all human, and if we want to keep our species going we have to work together.” He shrugs. “We have our leaders;” he turns his thumbs on himself, “we have our breeding stock;” he points at Louis, “and we have our workers;” he gestures down the road.

Louis really might be sick. “But they don’t know.”

Simon inclines his head. “People don’t always like what’s best for them. Think of it like making children eat healthy.”

 _Oh god._ Louis’ stomach clenches. “This isn’t right.” He feels like every cliché in every movie.

“Maybe not.” Simon concedes. “But it’s _necessary_. How many under fives have you seen in your travels? Under six even?” It’s not a question. “We average one birth every week across five compounds Louis. Do you know how many we have?”

Louis doesn’t. But he can’t imagine it’s many.

“None.”

“Do you understand Louis? We have none. Every. Single. Child is born infected. Every one.”

Louis shudders.

Simon isn’t finished. “So you’ll have to forgive me for what I’m doing, because I will not rest until I have crossed every two humans left! I am not stopping this until there are enough of us to keep our species alive!”

Louis’ face is cold, and his tongue itches to shout and scream. He’d been told. Right before his last compound had been raided – _there are farms –_ in whispers – _don’t let them catch you._

His stomach heaves at the memory.

She’d come – a woman, kind and gentle with the darkest brown eyes. Louis remembers their whispered conversations.

_‘They found out I can’t have children’_

_‘I’m so sorry--’_

_“No. It’s good. It’s good. It’s worse if you can. They get you pregnant, over and over.”_

_‘So they let you go?’_

_‘They were taking me to a hospital.’ Her eyes were so full of pain, Louis couldn’t take it. Couldn’t bear to read the expression on her face. ‘They take the babies too, all the infected newborns. They take them there to look for a cure. To the hospital. To experiment.’_

_Louis held her as she cried._

They’d followed her to the compound. Tried to make sure that there was no-one left to tell. They’d nearly succeeded.

Louis breathing speeds up, his side burns, adrenaline floods into him.

He does the only thing he can. He runs again.

He makes it to the bank before anyone else moves, and he doesn’t bother turning back to see if the dark man s following. It’s slippery, and it takes all his focus to climb down, gripping tightly to sharp bushes and rough stones, his calloused hands carefully picking out the smallest handholds.

He’s about halfway down when something small and hard slams into his hand. He pulls back, but he’s gotten good at climbing, and his weight is mostly on his legs.

Another rock wizzes past, clipping his ear, and then another. He ducks down, pressing into the mess of mud and roots as he’s bombarded. There’s a slight pause, and Louis risks looking up.

The next rock takes him in the forehead.

His hands rush up automatically to protect himself, and that’s all it takes. His feet slip out from beneath him and his chest slams into the bank. Something inside his body _moves,_ and his head fills with white noise, but he can’t focus on it as he slides, hands forming claws to dig into the damp ground.

His movement stops.

“You’re ok Louis. I’m sorry we had to do that but you’ll be ok.”

Louis rolls over and there’s a strange whistling in his ears.

Simon’s voice is getting closer. “You should be grateful, it’s safe at our compound. We’ll get you patched up and looked after.”

Louis breathes.

Only he doesn’t.

Simon’s face appears above him. “Let’s get you up shall we?”

Louis tries again.

He breathes.

Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. In the back of his head he knows that there’s pain – a lot of pain. But it’s not important.

He tries again.

He coughs, and it’s sharp. So sharp. And there’s a wet sound.

He tries again.

There’s not enough oxygen. His head is spinning. It’s like—it’s like drowning. He feels like he’s drowning.

_Oh god no. Please no. Please._

“Louis?”

But he can’t be drowning – there’s no water – and he’s a survivor. He’s _immune._ He coughs again and there’s water in his mouth, but it's warm, and it tastes like metal.

Hands pull at his coat, tugging his clothes aside, undoing his scarf. “I can’t see anything.”

He can hear the voices, but nothing’s making sense, and he’s breathing but it _isn’t enough_.

Louis coughs harder, and there’s that funny taste again. He can still hear talking, but it keeps fading in and out and he can’t follow it.

“…collapsed… can’t… no …compound…”

 _No._ He tries to move, but his body isn’t working, and his head won’t stop spinning.

He coughs. There’s a dark face in this vision, and he can see lips moving but he can’t hear. The face disappears, and suddenly his side is screaming, and he’s rising up off the floor.

\--

Louis blinks, and he’s back on the road.

\--

Louis blinks again, and the dull grey ceiling of the compound’s medical room is staring back at him.

He still can’t breathe, but he isn’t confused anymore. His body is a bit cold, and his fingers keep twitching, but the pain is less and he’s starting to feel gloriously blank and fuzzy.

He can hear voices again, and this time they seem more familiar. “…ribs… bore… can’t take… no… two and three… hurt…”

There are fingers poking at his side and every jab sends a wash of heat over him. They trail over him, checking, cataloguing, counting.

Hands press onto the side of his head, and his vision is suddenly filled with long hair and wide green eyes. Louis thinks he might recognize that face. The man is talking, and he thinks he can hear apologies falling from pink lips, but he doesn’t understand.

Louis looks round. He doesn’t know these people. Everything’s grey and quiet and he doesn’t know these people. Why is he alone in this place? Why isn’t his family there? Where are his sisters? His dad? Where’s his mom?

There’s a sharp, cold pain in his side and it feels so, _so,_ wrong. He tries to move away, but his head as somehow clamped in place and his legs aren’t moving.

He takes a breath.

The cold pain comes again, and it’s doing something, but he doesn’t understand what it is, and it’s sharp. _So sharp_. It’s pushing back the numbness and the grey and filling his vision with bright white and red and pain. It’s like there’s broken glass in his chest, pressing and digging and _hurting_.

Louis breathes. It hurts. It hurts so much. Like a dark, heavy blackness that’s sucking him down, taking him away.

But it works.

He breathes, and it works again. He’s not drowning anymore. He can breathe!

Louis struggles, but he still can’t move. He’s not drowning, but there’s something dark above him, something big.

Green eyes move back into his vision, and all Louis can see is the woman from his first compound. So hurt and afraid. He shuts his eyes.  

“Louis hang on. _Louis_. I’m so sorry…”

 _Harry._ He sounds hurt, and Louis is suddenly angry, because _he’s_ the one who’s hurt. He’s the one who’s supposed to be afraid. He opens his eyes, but he can’t manage a glare, and his eyes are itching and the pain is coming back, making him confused again.

“You’ll be ok Louis. You will. You just need to rest ok? Try to go to sleep.”

 _Sleep._ Louis feels tears slide out the corners of his eyes. He’s been asleep for the past 5 years. 8 even. Ever since he left his family to follow his dreams and one stupid fucking boy. He’s been asleep through this whole terrible nightmare. Louis doesn’t want to sleep anymore. Louis wants to wake up now. Wants to open his eyes to his mother smiling beside him and Fizzy teasing him. Wants to open his eyes and be told that it was just a fever dream.

But Louis can’t wake up, because his nightmares are real, and he can’t sleep, because his body is burning. So Louis does the only thing he can – he closes his eyes and lets himself sink into the pain.


	6. Two steps further

Awareness trickles back into Louis sluggishly, arduously, and over the course of several days. He’s seen enough movies to expect to wake suddenly and fully aware - obviously with someone ready at his bedside to explain everything – so he feels quite cheated when this doesn’t happen. Perhaps it only happens in fiction, or with proper pain medication?

He wiggles his toes, feeling the tight itch of his calves, and then his fingers.

A head pops round the door, presumably alerted by the sound. “Louis? Are you awake?” It's Harry. It's always Harry. Louis doesn't know how or why the compound leader has seen fit to personally care for him, but he's still alive, so the man must be doing a reasonable job.

Louis’ head is too heavy to nod, and he definitely isn’t going to manage talking, but he doubts it’s expected.

Harry comes to stand by his bedside and immediately starts poking and prodding him. Louis growls – a strange, animalistic sound that he’s surprised to hear come out of his own throat.

“Ok, ok, sorry.” Harry holds his hands up and takes a step back. “The doctor should be here sometime this morning; she might be able to give you something for the pain. You should try and rest until then.”

She won’t, Louis knows. He hasn’t had anything for the pain for a long, long time. His eyelids are heavy though, so he shuts them.

Harry sighs. “Fine. Sleep. I’ll wake you when she gets here.” The sound of his shuffling away is loud in the quiet room.

Louis hasn’t slept in forever. Louis hasn’t done anything in forever. He just lies there, breathing shallowly in a dull haze day after day. He doesn’t know if he’s getting better or worse.

He drifts for a while, voices coming in and out. At one point he hears the echo of a child’s laugh in his head; it’s carefree and bubbly and it reminds him of his sisters. Maybe it is one of his sisters? But no – there’s something… some ache there. He pushes it all away.

“Louis?” Harry again. Always Harry. “Wake up Louis, the doctor’s here.” His voice is cold.

Louis forces his eyes open to white teeth and dark skin. Not Harry, but he recognizes them.

“Reem’s going to take a look at you, see how you’re healing.”

 _Reem._

Memories slowly trickle back –flashes of fields and crops, and something with talking and smiling maybe.

 _Washing machines_. He remembers suddenly, and then _oh shit, the compound, the farm._  

Reem grins at him. “Morning Louis, how are you feeling?” _I’ll have to escape again._ He blinks. “Your colour is looking a bit healthier.”

“He’s a fighter.” Harry is frowning, and so Louis frowns back. _But they won’t let me go again._

“Absolutely.” Reem nods, and it’s as if she’s answering his own thoughts, rather than Harry’s completely asinine statement. He’s survived 5 years of hell. Of course he’s a fucking fighter. “I’m going to have a listen to your lungs now.”

She’s wearing a blue headscarf with white daises on it, and Louis stares for a moment, focusing on the tiny patterns. _Maybe a disguise? People leave for the village every day…_

He flinches in surprise as the cold circle of the stethoscope is placed on his chest. “Take a deep breath Louis, and blow it out slowly.”

He leaves his escape plans for the moment to focus on the task at hand. It takes three hitching tries to get in a reasonable breath, and he catches Harry wincing at each one. It makes him oddly irritated – _he’s_ the victim here. Harry has no right to flinch. His muscles spasm as he blows out slowly, and after he’s performed the trick another two times, sweat coats his collarbone and his eyes are watering.

“Good Louis, very good. That was deeper than yesterday.” _So we did this yesterday,_ Louis thinks. “Now I need to listen from the back, so Harry’s going to lift you.”

Louis has confused memories of this happening before, but they’re disjointed and vague.

Harry must have clear ones though, because he’s holding his body tensely. “This is going to hurt Louis.” His mouth is a tight, thin line.

 _Hurts._ Louis would snort, if he could manage it. Hurting is not the word for this. There isn’t a word in the English language. Louis isn’t in pain anymore; it’s nothing so simple. This is shapes and colours and textures. This is weight and emotion and vibration.  

A strong arm works underneath his torso, and it’s gentler than he would expect from his lead captor. “On three.”

Louis braces himself for something sharp and tight.

He isn’t disappointed.

Harry pulls him up in one fluid motion, and the sudden change makes his head swim, drowning out any coherency that he’d been managing.

“Ok Louis, another deep breath please.” Reem says.

He snorts, how is he supposed to breathe like this? That doesn’t make sense. There’s too much pressure on his chest, too much weight. Louis feels nauseous and confused. His head is resting on something soft and tickly, but his chest – his chest is trapped, bound in a tight vice, and it’s so hot it burns.

He takes a few shallow breaths. They itch.

It’s not clear how long he stays there – wrapped in heat and pressure – but eventually there’s a lighter touch on his forehead, soothing and stroking and it brings him back a little. His head is still so cloudy, but his body has loosened slightly, and he can hear talking again.

“… -ack tomorrow. Ok Louis?”

Louis blinks… and blinks again. And when he opens his eyes there’s only Harry there, sitting next to his bed with a cup of water pressed to Louis’ lips. He drinks, shakily.

“Are you back Louis?”

He blinks a few more times and concentrates on focusing his eyes.

“Reem says that you’re getting better, but it’s going to take a while.” Louis listens. Harry’s voice is low and soothing, and it’s kinder than he would have expected. “I don’t even know if you can understand me right now, but your eyes are open so…”

Louis understands, but he isn’t sure he’ll remember.

“You haven’t got an infection, which is good, but you were already weak when you got hurt so it’s taking some time.” Harry sighs and shakes his head. “She says you’re going to be ok.”

There’s a pause, and Louis isn’t sure if he’s drifted out again or if Harry simply wasn’t talking. 

“I feel so useless.” The muttered confession is quiet, but the room is quieter, and Louis thinks it might be darker than before, thinks it might be nighttime. “She’s the only doctor we have, and I know how lucky we are to have one at all but—It’s not enough. It’s never enough. We have a doctor, but no medicine, and no equipment. What are we supposed to do if someone gets sick? If someone gets hurt? You were so lucky Louis. _So lucky._ If we hadn’t had a bore needle here you’d be dead right now. If it’d been any worse… I’m so sorry Louis. _So_ sorry.”

 _So sorry._ Louis feels like he's heard the whispered words before, like maybe this isn't the first time Harry's said them? But he couldn't have, could he? The man's so stoic, so cold-- a shiver runs through his tired body.

Still... Louis might be a bit confused, and he might not know exactly what Harry's talking about, but he understands feeling helpless, so he wiggles his fingers again, pushing against the tightness, and the weight, and the itch. He inches his fingers along, second by second as Harry sighs shakily next to him.

“Louis?” Harry’s voice is so small, and so fearful, and so very unlike the man that Louis has talked to so far. But his hands are warm, and they wrap tightly around Louis’ searching fingers.

Harry doesn’t say anything else, and Louis is grateful. He doesn’t want to be here, he doesn’t agree with the things that Simon and Harry do, and he doesn’t think there’s anything Harry can be hiding that could be worth all this.

But right here and right now they are two survivors, and two humans, and Harry is sorry to have caused Louis pain. And for Louis right now, that’s enough.

\--

Reem has been by three times that Louis remembers, though he has no idea how many times she’s been in total, or how long he’s been here.

Time for him comes in chapters – before capture, before injury, and now. When he was growing up he’d had a phone to tell him the date, just like everyone else, and when phones stopped working he’d counted. But after too long by himself Louis had honestly stopped caring. The cold had told him it was winter, and when the chill left the air it was spring. The birds let him know it was summer, and the trees told him it was autumn.

The compound of course has a tidy counter, keeping track of all the days to keep up with the planting and harvesting schedule, but it’s outside, and even if he could make it he knows he wouldn’t be allowed.

Everything’s confusing now, trapped inside. He drifts along, and sometimes it’s dark, and sometimes it’s light, and sometimes Harry comes in and makes him drink, or tries to feed him, only speaking when necessary. And twice he’s changed whatever it is that’s wrapped around his lower half, cleaning him at the same time with a damp cloth. Louis tries not to think about it.

“Louis.” Harry, Harry, Harry. “Reem’s given me some exercises to do with you.”

Louis manages somehow to shake his head.

“Yes.” Harry’s voice is firm, and empty. Still, it's better than angry, and there's no hostility left in his body language.

Louis still isn’t up to words, so he lifts a single eyebrow.

Harry shrugs. “You’ve been lying down for too long Louis, and your body is tense from the pain. She thinks it might be making it worse for you.” There’s a long pause before Harry continues. “Louis, your rib went through your lung. Do you realize that?”

No he hadn’t.

_Shit._

“You didn’t.” And Harry is somehow a mind reader now, that, or it’s written all over his face. “You fell Louis, do you remember?”

Louis nods; trying his best to give a silent _go on._ He thinks he’ll remember what he’s told this time. He thinks he’s probably been told before, and he's glad that Harry's being so patient with him - he wouldn't have expected it.

“We don’t know how it happened… Simon said the fall wasn’t that hard. Reem thinks maybe malnutrition weakened your bones.”

 _Or maybe it was already broken._ Louis realizes, reminded of the sharp stabs and dull aches that had plagued his side ever since he’d arrived.

“When Zayn carried you in you couldn’t breathe properly.” Harry is speaking slowly, but he's starting to sound a little adgitated. “We have an oxygen mask here but no oxygen, so we pumped it anyway with air, and somehow you managed on one lung.”

Harry picks up the glass of water by Louis’ head and raises his eyebrows. It looks like a question, so Louis nods, and sips thirstily when Harry presses it to his lips.

“It was Reem who worked out what was wrong. You were pretty out of it, and you kept saying-” Harry cuts himself off, putting the water down, and Louis finds that he doesn’t actually want to know anymore. “You said you were drowning.”

Louis winces, and it sends sharp pains from the back of his neck right down to his toes.

“Anyway,” Harry seems to be trying to shake the memory off, but there’s a strain in his voice that Louis hasn’t heard before, and he’s staring at the wall like he can see through it. “There’s this special type of hollow needle-- a bore needle. When your lung collapsed, air got between your ribs and chest, so we used the needle to sort of, suck the air out.”

Louis is glad he can’t remember.

“You’re lucky. Once your chest was clear your lung reflated and you started breathing on your own again. Apparently it doesn’t always work.” Harry walks down to the end of the bed and pulls his blanket aside, taking Louis’ ankle solidly in his hands. The two of them are still for a moment, and Louis assumes that Harry is giving him a few seconds to prepare himself. Or maybe he’s giving himself a moment. Louis isn’t sure – doesn’t care. “I’m going to lift and stretch your legs a bit. It’ll probably hurt.”

Harry has once again underestimated Louis’ pain. The first lift is like ice shards down his thigh but as it keeps on they melt into something hot, something that burns. Harry keeps talking as he pushes Louis’ leg back against his chest, and Louis tries his best to listen and not to focus on the fire running through him.

He makes a few small whimpers, and each time Harry’s voice hesitates.

“Reem’s trying to… … to make different types of medicine.” Louis shudders. “She’s just… she’s worried about testing things on people.”

Harry rotates his ankle, and this time Louis shouts out loud, and _oh god_ his chest feels _wrong_. Just wrong. Like he’s trying to lift a blanket of broken glass.

Harry is standing frozen as Louis pants in short, shallow gasps, and he’s staring at the wall, which Louis can’t make sense of. Eventually though, Louis’ body calms back down, and when his breathing is back to normal, Harry continues, running his hand along Louis’ calf, gently massaging the muscle.

“We used… …” Louis doesn’t understand why Harry’s hands are shaking. He’s not the one who’s flaking to pieces, one splinter at a time. “We, … we gave you a special tea at first. She made it out of poppies. That was when we moved you here. I don’t… I mean- it was stronger than we’d thought, but you were in too much pain and she was worried about shock…"

Louis is trembling now, and he wonders why the fuck they stopped giving him this amazing tea if it was actually fucking working.

“You were really out of it for a while.” Harry starts on the next leg, and Louis thinks he might just scream. “It made your heart race… Reem… … she let us give it to you for a week but then she said… she said it wasn’t safe anymore.”

 _Drugged for a week?_ Louis tucks that knowledge away for when he can concentrate on it.

The shaking from Harry's hands has stopped, and the man's body shows only the faintest hints of strain - maybe it had only been Louis who was shaking? His muscles unclench painfully as his leg is finally put back down.

Harry lets out a long breath, staring once more at the wall. His mouth looks tight, and Louis is getting used to faces again but he doesn’t know this expression. “That’s when we brought you here.”

 _Here._ He looks up at the same grey tile that’s on the roof of every building here. It looks a little different though, now that he stares, and there’s a thick brown carpet that he can see if he stretches his neck. The chair that Harry’s been sitting on looks plastic, uncomfortable.

It’s not even that important, but suddenly Louis _has_ to know, has to have at least this tiny bit of control back. He swallows twice and concentrates. “Where… where’s… here?” His voice is raspy, and the sentence leaves him gasping.

Harry blows out another slow breath and takes a step back. “You’re in my rooms Louis. I’m going to—“ He stops suddenly and clears his throat, and there’s a long pause before he speaks again. When he does his voice is as empty and cold as Louis has come to expect. “I’m looking after you.”

Louis relaxes back and watches patiently as Harry silently pulls the blanket back over him, tucking the corners down tightly. When he’s done, he pulls Louis up gently to re-settle his pillows, and then quickly collects a bottle of water from another room and tops up the glass by his bed.

Louis watches it all carefully.

Before the world went to shit – before infection struck and humanity ended as bloated bodies in the water, Louis had had a cousin, and that cousin had owned a cat. She was a nice cat, nothing like the mangy creatures that fought and hissed and relentlessly populated the empty countryside. She was a clever little calico with a little toy mouse, and she would roll over to let Louis scratch her soft belly and purr soothingly. He remembers playing with her, remembers cuddling her and stroking her, but what he remembers best is that little toy mouse, and how she’d always pretended to be completely uninterested in it – right until Louis was just inches away.

He thinks about the way that Harry’s voice is hard but his touches are soft. He thinks about quiet ‘sorrys’ in the dark. He thinks about how Harry has been cleaning him, and feeding him, and caring for him.

He thinks; _you’re going to help me escape._


	7. Three blind mice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Science at the end if you're interested!

The following day is better for Louis, and he manages to stay coherent and awake for almost all of it. Once he hears Niall’s voice, and later Reem, but he doesn’t see either of them.

Harry himself comes in and out, sometimes asking Louis if he needs anything, but mostly spending time in the back room with the door shut, and Louis is suddenly reminded that Harry is hiding something in there.

He makes the decision to find out what it is as soon as he’s mobile.

His inability to move is starting to take its toll, and Louis feels jittery, and nervous. Some issues – mainly bathroom issues – become more awkward, as Louis is finally awake to realize that he needs to _go_ , and he isn’t too impressed when Harry calmly instructs him to just ‘go on the towel Louis, I’ll clean it up in a minute’.

Louis doesn’t.

In fact, Louis snaps at Harry that he needs privacy, and instead waits until Harry leaves before choosing to approach the insane task of trying to get up.

The bathroom conversation also alerts him to a rather alarming fact – he’s not wearing bottoms. In fact, they seem to have got him wearing some sort of faux hospital gown slash Victorian nightie. He feels like something out of Dickens. And even worse – underneath that, his crotch area has been securely wrapped in a towel.

So he’s wearing a nappy, then.

This tells Louis a number of things: One, he must have been incredibly out of it to have not noticed that his was going on. Two, they’ve been letting him lie on a towel and relieve himself this whole time and three – and this might be the worst of all – he was practically naked during yesterday’s stretching exercises and he hadn’t even noticed.

None of this is good, and Louis does not care to think about it any longer. Instead, he turns back to his quest for the bathroom.

It goes well, for about a minute; yesterday’s torture has actually had the desired effect – the pain in his body has become a more localized affair, and his muscles aren’t bunched tight like they had been.

He’s already propped up, so he wriggles a little higher; ignoring the various aches in his chest and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

It’s a mistake – the momentum unbalances his upper body, rolling him onto his side.

It hurts.

It hurts enough that Louis uses all the strength in his arms to push up from the side of the bed, sending himself stumbling on weak legs into the small table next to him. He swings wildly, swiping his glass of water and a small candle – thankfully not lit – to the floor, before finally pushing himself up into a more stable position.

Louis sighs in relief as he finally stands upright and waits for his head to stop rushing. For the first time, he’s able to get a proper look at the room that he’s being kept in. It's dark, with the curtains shut, but he can see that it's big enough to have been a small classroom, though it’s mostly empty, and there’s a whiteboard on one wall that supports his theory. His bed is in the center of the room, and there’s a sofa positioned awkwardly next to the outer door, so he assumes that the bed has been brought in especially for him. As he gets his bearings, he takes a small step backwards.

It’s another mistake.

His unused legs aren’t ready to support him, and he stumbles, his foot connecting with the chair behind him. Unbalanced, he flails his arms down, just managing to push off before he lands on the dull grey plastic. The force pushes him upright, but his legs still aren’t cooperating, and as he stumbles, the towel unwinds from his waist and tangles around them. There’s one horrible moment when he sees his weak chest colliding with the solid wood of the table, but he gets his arms up just in time and delivers another panicked push.

The rebound sends him back into the chair like a human pinball, knocking it roughly to the ground.

He’s not at all surprised to find himself going down with it.

As Louis lands with a painful thud, his foot hooks round a table leg, bringing it down on top of himself to round out the mess.

He sighs in frustrated defeat as his bladder lets go.

\--

Louis doesn’t know how long it is until he hears a door closing, but it’s at least been long enough for the pain to ebb slightly.

“Shit.” Someone says.

He flops over, and there’s Harry, jogging over from the door of the back room where he’s apparently been this whole time.

“Hi.” Louis offers from the ground.

He doesn’t really know what else to say – has no protocol for this. Perhaps at one time he would have said nothing at all, but Harry is going to have to scrub his pee out of the carpet, so he deserves at least a greeting.

“Louis what--” Harry quickly lifts the table off Louis’ legs and moves the chair away. His forehead is all wrinkled and his eyes are huge, and a sudden hysteria begins to bubble up inside Louis.

A small snort escapes him. “Oops.”

“I—What?” Harry’s face is even funnier now. He reminds Louis of a Labrador that he once saw stand on its own tail.

There’s pressure in his chest again, and in his throat, and behind his eyes, and it’s making everything worse. He lets out a choked laugh. “Harry.” He feels wild, “I’m alive.”

Maybe it’s his body finally delivering some well-deserved adrenaline, or the relief of finding that he isn’t made of glass, or just the desperate need to relieve the terrible stress of everything that’s happened to him. It doesn’t really matter to Louis.

He feels giddy with it. Giddy, and unstable. He feels like a tree in a thunderstorm, whipping wherever the wind sends him and loosing pieces of himself along the way.

Harry’s smile is hesitant, but recognizable, and Louis feels a strange twinge in his stomach. “Yeah, you are Louis.” Harry shakes his head. “What happened?”

Louis’ giggle turns into a strange hiccupping sound, “I had to pee.”

“You had to pee.” Harry parrots. He frowns and scrunches up his nose. “Did you pee?”

The pressure is getting to be too much, it constricts his vocal chords. “I did.”

Harry snorts. “Of course you did. You wouldn’t pee on the nice towel I put on you, but my carpet’s fair game?”

So Harry put the towel on him. The hysteria floods back up. There are small sounds coming out of Louis that he doesn’t entirely understand and he definitely can’t control.

Harry’s mouth is all teeth, but his forehead is wrinkled. “Are you ok Louis? I mean— I know it’s been rough. You might feel better if we get you cleaned up…”

He’s probably right.

“How about we start with getting back on the bed?”

His body still feels tight, but the need to laugh or scream is pulling back, leaving him panting and exhausted. He nods once.

“Ok then, I’m going to lift you up onto the bed now, if that’s ok?”

Harry moves forwards cautiously, but Louis makes no move to protest, and he must take that as consent, because a big arm slots behind his back and another behind his knees, and suddenly Louis is up in the air, tucked against the larger man’s chest.

“Wow, you weigh nothing. We need to feed you up a bit.”

Louis should probably have something to say about that, but he’s starting to feel a bit dizzy, and a bit sick as he’s placed back down on the bed.

“We’re going to have to change those pajamas. I’ll be right back.”

Harry ducks out into another room, leaving Louis alone to consider the situation. His body is sore, and he’s not looking forwards to being mopped up, but if Harry can treat it as no big deal then Louis will happily follow his lead. 

He comes back after a few minutes with a bucket and sponge, and a pair of soft looking, presumably clean clothes. “Let’s get this off you, yeah?”

 _Eugh._ Louis is not looking forwards to this.

Harry moves forwards at his nod, and quickly strips off Louis’ nightie. He shuts his eyes as he’s efficiently wiped down, the sponge dragging gently over his chest and sides, and under his arms. The water is warm and soapy, and the touch is nice, soothing, but his cheeks heat up anyway.

Harry is silent as he props Louis up, rubbing over his back and then pulling a green cotton t-shirt over his head. It smells like Harry.

He leans back against the pillows with a sigh.

Harry smiles again, and raises his eyebrows.

Louis raises one back.

“Ok. Sorry about this. Just pretend I’m a doctor ok?” Harry sounds a bit awkward, but the hysteria is still there just under the surface, making him feel reckless, so Louis decides to make it worse.

“You want to play doctor with me?”

It’s awkward, but it's worth it as Harry gives a sudden, braying laugh and blushes a bright red, and Louis could get used to that sound. “You caught me.” He dips the sponge back in the bucket.

Louis stares at the ceiling this time, and there’s only a slight hesitation before the sponge is pressed against his legs. Harry's so strange - co cold and stern and serious, and then every now and again, _this_ Harry creeps in, and he's kind and sweet and apparently laughs like a donkey, Louis isn't sure what to make of it.

Harry clears his throat in the silence. “You’re doing a lot better Louis. Reem thinks you’ll be able to walk around in a day or so.”

Harry is probably just trying to distract the both of them as the sponge runs up between his legs, but he appreciates the effort. The water is starting to cool down. Louis shivers.

“Nearly done now. Can you roll over?”

 _What._ “What?!” It’s more of a squawk, than anything.

Harry sighs. “Please turn over Louis. I know it’s awkward but you’ve been lying here for over a week and your body didn’t just stop working.”

“Umm.” Louis’ mind is blank.

“Here…” Harry slips a hand under his back and another under his thigh, and before Louis can protest he’s been flipped painfully over and there’s a wet sponge running up and down his arse.

_Oh my god._

“Harry--” His face is pressed into the pillows and his chest hurts, and he feels so, so exposed, but Harry flips him back over before he can manage a proper protest.

“Sorry about that, but we haven’t been able to turn you over since you got hurt and-- I mean, you were starting to smell a bit.”

_Oh my god._

Louis doesn’t think he’s ever been redder, so he does what he’s learned is the only answer. He shuts his eyes.

Harry snorts, and pulls a thick, soft pair of jogging bottoms up and over Louis' legs, and Louis obliges by lifting his bum at the appropriate moment, incredibly grateful to be rid of the towel for now, but not enough to open his eyes.

After that, the blanket is pulled back up and Harry leaves the room, and Louis lets himself relax in the quiet. At least he’s clean now, and dry, and he doesn’t need the toilet anymore. He pushes thoughts of Harry away.

It’s a while before the soft padding of sock-clad feet on carpet comes back, and Louis would persist in his game of ‘if-I-can’t-see-you-you-can’t-see-me’, if it weren’t for the fact that someone seems to be kneeling on the floor beside him.

He opens his eyes.

_Oh right, the pee._

Louis frowns down as Harry quickly cleans the carpet with a bizarrely practiced ease.

The silence is making his brain itch, so he breaks it. “I shouted.” It’s ungrateful he knows, but he’s still embarrassed, and it isn’t clear why, but having Harry on his knees scrubbing up his mess is killing something inside of him.

Harry stills and looks up at him calmly. “These are old music rooms. The back room is soundproofed.”

Louis frowns. “Rich school.”

“It was. That’s why Simon chose it.”

Harry is still kneeling, so Louis nods, and stares up at the ceiling. _Soundproofing_. Harry could be hiding anything in there. It doesn’t make senses though – if Harry is hiding something from everyone then why would he keep Louis here?

He’s been trying to avoid talking - doesn't want to get too close to anyone - but maybe it’s worth it if he can get a few answers. Louis still doesn’t understand why Harry is doing this. Why anyone would do this.

He starts with the easiest question. “Why your rooms?”

“Like I said Louis, I’m looking after you.”

“But why _you_?”

Harry sighs and gets to his feet, dropping a small brush into a bucket. “Because you know too much.” He shakes his head. “Simon—he doesn’t want you telling everyone that-”

“-he keeps people in cages.” Louis finishes, righteous indignation suddenly giving him confidence.

“No.” Harry frowns. “He doesn’t Louis. It’s not like that. I know it’s horrible, but it’s… I mean, it’s for the best, he says.”

He says, he says. Does anyone in this damn compound think for themselves? Louis suddenly feels a desperate need to laugh at this huge fucking game of Simon says.

He takes a steadying breath. “And you?”

Harry is refusing to look at him. It makes Louis vindictively happy. _Good,_ he thinks, _you should feel ashamed._ “It doesn’t matter what I think. It is what it is. Simon runs his compound, and we make sure that they have food and any new people that show up. That’s how it works.”

So Harry doesn’t have people locked up here at least. “And that’s ok?”

Harry shakes his head, he’s twitchy, fractious like a horse about to bolt. “I’m not saying I agree with it Louis, but it’s complicated.”

Louis frowns.

“Simon says we need children. I can’t— What are we supposed to do? There hasn’t been one healthy child born since it happened, not one.”

Louis frowns harder. He understands, a little. If all new babies are born infected then their species isn’t going to survive, and there’s some ancient part of his brain screaming at that idea. But this… this isn’t right. It isn’t the way.

Louis would rather see his species die out than to live like this.

He shakes his head.

Harry’s hands turn to fists at his sides. “I wish Simon wasn’t going to take you Louis, I really do.”

Louis waits for the ‘but…’.

He waits to be told that its’ necessary, that he’s doing his part. He waits for the platitudes, for Harry to tell him that it won’t be that bad, that he’ll be safe and warm and well fed with his own room.

But he doesn’t.

Later, Louis will realize that this was what gave him hope – he’ll understand, that the fall and the humiliation made him feel weak and dependent, that the nerves and the jitters made him impatient to be saved, that Harry’s careful ministrations translated in his head into Louis’ savior.

But for now, he just latches on to the sudden bubble that he hasn’t felt in his chest for so very long.

“Harry?” Louis voice is cautious, and Harry’s frown tells him that it hasn’t gone unnoticed. “How long?”

Harry’s quiet for a beat, but he somehow understands. “You’ll stay here until your ribs are healed, but I think he’ll take you as soon as you can make the trip. Maybe a few more weeks, a month at most.”

“I… umm,” Louis isn’t sure if this is the right approach, but he’s willing to try. “I wanted to thank you.”

Harry’s eyes widen in surprise.

Louis nods. “You’ve kept me alive, and taken good care of me. So thank you.” He coughs a little – too many words.

Harry’s mouth stretches wide, and Louis hasn’t seen a full smile on Harry’s face before, not even when he'd laughed, but he thinks he’d like to see more of them. “You’re welcome Louis.”

And Louis hesitates, because he knows it’s a risk, but that hopeful bubble is still there, so he takes a chance. He takes a deep breath. “Harry. Please help me get out of here.”

The reaction is immediate.

Harry jumps back and turns away, his face going hard. _Shit, shit, shit. Too soon._ Louis should have known it was too soon. Louis _did_ know.

There’s a long, long pause before Harry speaks, and when he does, his voice is cold and empty. “Do you know Louis, why Simon was there when you tried to run away?”

Louis shakes his head. He’d taken a risk, and it’s clear it hasn’t paid off. Louis doesn’t need to know any more. Doesn’t _want_ to know.

“It’s because I told him.”

 _What._ Louis’ stomach drops. _No. That’s—No._

Harry nods, his face unreadable, and still refusing to look at Louis. “I told him where you would leave from, and I told him when."

_What._

There’s a long _, long_ pause.

Louis doesn’t know what’s happening; doesn’t know how everything fell apart _so fast._

 _Why?_ Louis can’t get the words out, but Harry answers them anyway.

“Simon needs people Louis, and I need to think about everyone here. I’m not about to sacrifice all this for one scrawny stranger. You’re a liability, and a waste of resources. It’s not worth it Louis. ” Harry stares at him then, and his eyes are cruel when they meet Louis’. “ _You’re_ not worth it.”

He shrugs and turns, walking towards the outside door. There’s a brief second when he hesitates, and Louis braces himself for whatever new horror Harry might drop on him, but the moment passes and he moves away.

The door slams behind him as Harry stalks out, and Louis is left, shaken and sick and confused. How could he have been so stupid? How could he possibly have thought that Harry might help him to get out of here? This isn’t the world he grew up in. Not anymore.

As Louis sits in the silent house, his body trembling for exertion, and stress, and fear, he comes to a realization; he’s been getting too comfortable here – complacent. That has to stop.

And so he makes a pact with himself. He’s going to get out of this. He’s going to be free. And when he is, he’s never, ever coming within 20 miles of this place.

He shuts his eyes, and takes a few shallow breaths. His plan is clear, and oh so simple.

First, he’s going to remember how to be alone. Then, he’s going to heal a little more. And then, well, then he’s going to find out what Harry’s hiding.

\--

Louis doesn’t talk for three days. Not to anyone.

His eyes stay hard as he nods at Reem, and she smiles sadly at him, but doesn’t push it. He’d only been managing single words with her anyway.

Harry, he outright ignores, refusing to make eye contact or answer any of his questions. Sometimes he sees the larger man with an expression on his face that might be sadness, but Louis can’t be sure, and he honestly doesn’t care.

But while Harry and Reem continue to check his lungs and making sure that he’s not about to die, Louis has been working on his own project.

Louis has been walking.

He’s started out small – just standing up and then sitting back down again, transferring himself to the chair and back. Later, when he’d gotten used to that, he’d managed to hobble to the table at the far end of the room, and after another day’s practice, he was finally able to take himself to the small toilet down the corridor. It’s tough, and tiring, but Louis is in desperate need of leverage, and he knows that the only way to get it is to find out what’s in the soundproofed room that has Harry obeying Simon like a mindless drone.

Louis shifts his weight and pushes up off the bed with a now practiced ease. He’s been peeing on the towel Harry’s placed back beneath him, and it still makes him cringe each time he’s cleaned up like an infant, but it’s better than letting them know he’s mobile. Of course, once his body got enough food in it to start functioning properly again, he’d found that he actually wasn’t willing to shit on a towel and have Harry clean it up, so he’s grateful of his ability to get to the bathroom.

Harry has been giving him strange, considering looks each time he changes Louis’ towel and doesn’t find anything, but he hasn’t broached the topic yet. Louis is _extremely_ grateful.

Reaching the table near to the door is getting easier, and Louis only needs to give himself a brief rest before he’s ready to go further. This time, excitement gives him adrenaline, making the journey seem easy.

He leans cautiously around the door frame. There’s a short, narrow, hallway with three doors off of it. One of them, he knows leads to the bathroom, and one of them leads to what looks like an old teacher’s office, which has been lined with bottles of water, blankets, and various other stores. He walks in slowly, determined not to miss anything that could be useful, but there’s nothing incriminating.

There is, however, a fire escape through the back of the office that probably explains how Niall and Reem got in and out without him seeing them, and now that he thinks about it, he realises he'd seen it already from the outside. He pokes mindlessly at a small plush elephant that sits on top of a stack of papers as he gives himself another small rest. Only one room left.

His bare feet pad silently along, and he’s grateful for the thick carpet, although he wonders briefly how on earth Harry manages to keep it clean.

There’s a small piece of wood nailed to the door when Louis reaches it, and it looks like it’s been hammered on in a hurry. The single nail holding it in place looks loose though, so Louis gives it a solid push and finds that it spins easily out of the way, unbarring the door.

With his hand on the handle, he waits for a minute and listens. The rooms are still silent, and he’s fairly sure that he’s alone. Well – aside from whatever is in there. There’s the faint sound of birds outside.

Louis doesn’t want to open the door.

He _needs_ to open the door, for his own safety that’s important, but the door is barred from the _outside_ …

And with a blinding clarity, Louis knows what’s in there.

\--

After the first wave of infection hit; after a microscopic insidious parasite crept from the water into its host’s brain turning humans into single-minded, destitute robots, intent on their own self-destruction, survivors in their millions had tried to save the infected.

Louis had seen people chained to fences, to trees, to _other people –_ those were the worst. He’d seen parents walk to their deaths with their children in their arms. The infirm, dragging their caregivers with inhuman strength, as the unaffected tried desperately and sometimes in vain to unlock themselves.

And slowly, millions turned into billions, as humanity was wiped out.

Because what defense was there, against a parasite that was everywhere? A parasite with no cure? A parasite that’s only drive was to replicate – and what better place than safe inside a waterlogged human corpse?

Louis had thought it was ridiculous, when it was first suggested, and he wasn’t the only one. But scientists continued to push the idea, and one by one, heads were turned. He’d seen a program once – when Britain was still the safe haven that it started as – on something called toxoplasma; on how it sent mice voluntarily crawling into the bellies of cats.

And this was the same they said… It got into the brain, past all defenses. It sent signals throughout the body. _Water. We need water._ The need crept up slowly, but continuously, until it was all you could think about, until it overrode every instinct, every bond, every trace of logic and reason.

People had drowned.

They’d walked into the water like zombies, and after all, this was the apocalypse.

They could not be stopped.

They could not be reasoned with.

People, in their thousands, and then people in their millions, and finally billions, and as the parasite spread, there was no defense – it was in the water, so water was pasteurized, it got into the soil, so food was boiled, but it spread so completely, and so fast, and there was no cure.

Hospitals threw medicine at it – it didn’t matter that it didn’t work. No one knew what would work, so why not try everything?

Nothing worked.

Stocks were wasted and supplies lost, until one day, one staggered day over weeks and months, those that were left realized that they weren’t dying.

They were infected – they _must_ be infected – they all were, and there was proof in every new born baby that screamed and screamed and screamed until someone silenced it.

But they were healthy. They were fine. And so those that were left began to try to rebuild the world, and compounds sprang up, where people could live together, and Farms, where people were forced to breed – breed or die.

And then worst of all – the hospitals. Hospitals were medical supplies were hoarded, where the only way in was as a test subject, where thousands of survivors were ruthlessly, cruelly, _desperately,_ experimented on.

But it was worse than that.

Because there was no cure, and they were all infected, and sometimes – and oh so rarely – but _sometimes_.

A survivor suddenly succumbed, and no one knew why.

But Louis could feel it.

Every day, ticking over his head. Like a tide rising when he didn’t know how high he was.

Every time he was thirsty. Every time he saw a river, or a stream, or a fucking raindrop.

Every urge he analyzed, every need came with a breath of fear…

And so Louis knows what’s in there – can see the mindless, screaming monster straining at their chains before he even opens the door. He wonders who it was… Harry’s mother or father maybe, or perhaps a sibling or a girlfriend?

His hands are shaking as he pushes open the door. He doesn’t want do see this. He doesn’t. He’s seen enough.

But he moves anyway, because he has nothing left, and he braces himself against the influx of sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mice infected with low-virulence strains of Toxoplasma gondii lose their innate aversion to cat urine, even after extensive parasite clearance.  
> PLoS One. 2013 Sep 18;8(9):e75246. doi: 10.1371/journal.pone.0075246. eCollection 2013.  
> Ingram WM1, Goodrich LM, Robey EA, Eisen MB.
> 
> http://www.nature.com/news/parasite-makes-mice-lose-fear-of-cats-permanently-1.13777
> 
> "...But its effects on rodents are unique; most flee cat odour, but infected ones are mildly attracted to it.  
> This is thought to be an evolutionary adaptation to help the parasite complete its life cycle: Toxoplasma can sexually reproduce only in the cat gut, and for it to get there, the pathogen's rodent host must be eaten.  
> In humans, studies have linked Toxoplasma infection with behavioural changes and schizophrenia. One work found an increased risk of traffic accidents in people infected with the parasite2; another found changes in responses to cat odour3."
> 
> http://www.nhs.uk/conditions/toxoplasmosis/Pages/Introduction.aspx
> 
> Toxoplasmosis is an infection caused by a parasite called Toxoplasma gondii (T. gondii).
> 
> "Estimates suggest up to a third of people in the UK will be infected by toxoplasmosis at some point in their life, but most people won't notice it."


	8. Something new

_Louis knows what’s in there – can see the mindless, screaming monster straining at their chains before he even opens the door. He wonders who it was… Harry’s mother or father maybe, or perhaps a sibling or a girlfriend?_

_His hands are shaking as he pushes open the door. He doesn’t want do see this. He doesn’t. He’s seen enough._

_But he moves anyway, because he has nothing left, and he braces himself against the influx of sound._

\---

 

It doesn’t come.

It’s the barest hint of an opening, but it should be enough. It should. Only…. nothing.

Louis takes a deep breath, pushing away the ever-present pain in his chest and easing the door a little further open. There’s a small desk against the near-wall, and it’s covered in a cluttered array of dried flowers. A wooden chair is tucked haphazardly underneath it and there are scraps of string on the floor.

It’s… it’s not what he expected. He pushes the door again – far enough that he can edge inside, still poised to run if something should come at him. The room is bathed in twilight, lit only by the strip of windows at the top of one wall, and now he can see a small single bed opposite the desk. In the middle, two comfortable-looking chairs sit around a small coffee table, this one covered in pebbles and some pieces of wood, and in the far corner there’s a piano with three guitars propped against it.

Louis turns his head in confusion. There’s nothing. It’s just a room. Just instruments.

There’s a sigh from the bed and Louis jumps back – head whipping round in case there is something to run from, but there’s nothing.

It was a tiny sigh, and past Louis would not have noticed it, but this Louis – the Louis that has dragged his half-starved body through compound raids and wild dogs, through illnesses and injuries – this Louis knows how to stay alive.

He turns slowly, carefully.

The bed is still there as it was – decked out in deep blue sheets underneath a pile of soft toys. He squints – there’s nothing there.

He takes a step closer; the light is dim but his eyes are sharp, and this time he does see something there. But it’s impossible…

He takes another step and looks again. It doesn’t make sense.

He moves closer.

…

It’s a girl.

And now that he sees her, he doesn’t know how he missed her. Perhaps his brain associated her blonde head with the teddy bears around her, or maybe he simply glossed over what he couldn’t comprehend. Louis doesn’t know why his honed senses missed her, but at least now he knows one thing: he knows why Harry hid her.

Because she’s small.

 _She’s so small_. Her blonde head is just poking out of the thick blankets, but he can trace her whole outline, can see her tiny features. Another quiet huff escapes her tiny sleeping body. She’s breathing normally and slowly. She’s calm, and relaxed, and she’s obviously healthy.

_She’s so young._

She’s just a child… she’s _Harry’s_ child.

And what wouldn’t a parent do to protect their child?

Louis goes cold. He’s miscalculated. He’s got it wrong. Again.

The sound of a door closing pushes through Louis’ thoughts and he jumps, but it’s too late – there’s a clear view from where he’s standing to the front entrance.

He closes his eyes, and listens to the swift sound of someone moving towards him and then stopping. His heart is taking off, but he holds steady, saving the adrenaline, preparing himself. This is what he’d wanted. He’d needed Harry to know that his secret was out. He’d wanted to get caught. Had planned it even. But this…

Harry won’t let him bargain with this.

The silence is endless.

“What have you done Louis?” Harry’s voice is just a whisper.

Louis opens his eyes and breathes out slowly. Every single one of his hard-won instincts are bellowing at him to hide, but he takes a few steps towards Harry – he can’t stay in this dead-end soundproofed prison, he needs to get away, and there’s only one way out. He’d thought he could know the secret and use it to escape, but this-- Harry’s not going to let this go. Not when it’s his _child_ at stake. Louis isn’t safe here anymore. Louis needs to go _now._

“No one’s supposed to know. No one can know Louis.” Harry is standing in the corridor, eyes wide and vacant, so Louis takes another step, and another, until finally he’s out of the room, shaking and nauseated, but carefully pulling the door shut behind him.

“He’ll take her away if people find out…”

Louis takes a few, painfully-slow steps down the corridor, but Harry is still frowning at the closed door. The old teacher’s office is just down the corridor – he can see the emergency exit, lit up brightly in his mind.

“I didn’t see anything.” Louis doesn’t expect it to work.

“Yes you did.”

“I don’t know what I saw.”

“Yes you do.”

 _No._ Harry’s never going to trust him, and all of his bargaining power is based on trust. Why had he ever though Harry would trust him?

“I can’t risk it. I can’t risk _her_. Please, just… Please understand.”

Louis nods. “You care about her.” It’s cliché, but maybe if Louis keeps him talking he can make it to the door – Harry’s standing so very still, ignoring Louis’ slow movements towards safety.

“She’s everything.”

Louis nods again, but Harry still isn’t looking at him. He’s managed to back himself up to the toilet door now – _half way._

Harry lunges.

It’s sudden, and Louis sees it coming but his body doesn’t respond like it should – his limbs heavy from inactivity.

It probably wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

Harry is bigger, and he’s heavier, and he’s driven by the mindless desire to _protect._

Louis is barely able to flinch before he’s pushed into the bathroom, hard, and the door’s slammed shut behind him.

He backs himself into the corner between the toilet and sink and waits, but nothing happens. No Harry bursting through, no shouting…

Haltingly, Louis pulls himself out of his hiding space towards the door, and with a quick dart forwards, he twists the lock. _Safe._ Well, not really, but Harry can’t get in for now.

Louis trembles with adrenaline. The strip of windows from the little girl’s room continues to run across the top of the wall, only these are lower quality, and one of them is half open where a makeshift pipe brings water from a rainwater tank on the roof to fill the toilet, and another for the sink.

The window is small, but so is Louis, and he’s not fully healed yet, but staying here’s not an option.

He lowers the lid on the toilet and steps up gingerly, gripping the windowsill with shaking hands. This probably isn’t going to end well, but what choice does he have? Harry’s been relatively kind so far, but if Louis had a child, well, there’d not much he wouldn’t do to protect it.

It hurts. A lot. But he pulls himself up onto the tank of the toilet, balancing precariously. There’s a clank of porcelain as it shifts under his weight.

The door handle rattles, and then rattles again. There’s a thump as something heavy falls against it. _Hurry._

Louis pushes the window open further and gets a good grip.

There’s another thump, and a crunch, and a crash.

His heart is pounding, but Louis is almost grateful as Harry rushes in and pulls him roughly down. He would never have made it anyway.

His back hits cold linoleum and it would probably hurt if he could feel it, but he doesn’t, so Louis crab-walks backwards, scrambling on hands and feet until he’s back out into the hall.

Harry is still again, only this time, Louis can still see the whites of his eyes, and his quick, panting breaths, and he doesn’t trust the inactivity for a second. He hauls himself up, slowly, his hands pressed against the wall and backs up through the corridor and into the main classroom, heading towards his bed. Maybe it’ll help… remind Harry that he’s supposed to be taking care of Louis.

There’s a grating sound as the door handle to the girl’s room suddenly moves, and she doesn’t come out, but Louis finally has hope.

Harry won’t kill him in front of a child. He _won’t_. He just needs to buy time, and maybe then she’ll come out, or Niall will arrive with their dinner, or Reem. He just needs time.

“Is she yours?” He picks up the conversation like nothing had happened.

Harry twitches a little, his head bobbing, nodding slightly – advancing. He’s still so contained, and still so calm. But it’s false, Louis can feel it, and it’s cracking.

Louis’ nearly at the bed now, but his legs are starting to shake from the exertion and his head and back are throbbing painfully. He can’t outrun the larger, healthier man, and he can’t over power him. He just needs time.

The door handle moves again.

He keeps backing up. There’s something in his mind telling him to get to the bed—something that associates it with safety now, something telling him that the Harry moving so very slowly is not the same one that sits at his bedside. That maybe if he gets to the bed then that Harry will come back to look after him. To save him.

Only he doesn’t know what to say, how to keep this dangerously frayed Harry at equilibrium until he reaches safety. So he thinks about the girl, about how small she is, and maybe it’s a remnant of the past that makes him ask, because it can’t be this Louis that’s asking such a stupid, dangerous question.

He opens his mouth, and he can feel the words on his tongue, and he knows it’s a mistake even as they come pouring out.

“Harry,” Louis’ voice is tight, “how old is she?”

Harry stops moving and Louis’ heart stops with him.

The girl’s door inches open a crack.

_Come out. Please come out. Come on, come on, come on. Come out._

His face is a lined mess of something that Louis thinks might be horror; his eyes wide and pained and his teeth bared. He takes a shaking, dangerous step forwards.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is rough.

The door moves an inch further.

A flash of memory comes to Louis then, and he hears Harry in his mind. _There hasn’t been one healthy child born since it happened, not one._ But there has been, hasn’t there? But just one. The only one.

“I never wanted this to happen.”

 _He’ll take her away._ And Simon knows about her.

“You weren’t supposed to find out.” Louis can hear pain in his tone, and see the threat in his stance, and for the first time since waking up in Harry’s rooms, Louis truly understands that he might not get out of here alive. Harry is muttering quietly to himself as he takes slow, halting steps forwards. “I’m so sorry. So sorry. I told Niall to take you back. I never—I didn’t want this. I didn’t want—but there’s no option. It has to be done. Forgive me. You’ll forgive me.”

His eyes are shiny and he’s shaking, but his teeth are still bared around his words, as if fight and flight are hammering through him in equal measure.

“I’m so sorry.”

The door slams shut.

There’s the briefest bunching of Harry’s body, and Louis sees it all in slow motion.

He throws himself backwards at the same time as Harry darts forwards, and it feels like days before the carpet rushes up to meet him. He lands with a crunch, the breath punched out of him, and it’s enough that he doesn’t even register the large figure before it’s sitting on his middle.

His diaphragm starts working again suddenly, and Louis takes large, loud gulps of air. Harry is above him – long hair loose and hanging limp round his face.

As Louis stares up, tears in the larger man’s eyes loosen and roll free, running down his cheek, across the dusting of hair on his chin.

Louis takes a short, shaky breath before large hands wrap around his throat.

“I’m so sorry.” The first tear splashes onto his face, and Louis watches others gather.

He should be fighting. He should be doing something. He should be trying to live. But it’s all just too much. It’s too much.

He flashes back to his first escape attempt – after he’d finally escaped Liam only to end up with Greg’s rough hands wrapped tightly around his throat. But this is a different Harry to the one that wouldn’t let the angry man choke him.

 _Why does this this keep happening?_ It shouldn’t be funny. It’s not, really.

Harry squeezes tighter and Louis hears a muffled sob as he shuts his eyes against the starbursts that erupt into his vision.

Another wet tear falls onto his face, and adrenaline finally shivers back into Louis’ body. This isn’t ok. It isn’t. He doesn’t want to die here. He doesn’t want to be killed by another human. Not after everything that’s happened. So Louis bucks his hips, his hands curling into fists and punching at Harry’s chest, pulling at his fingers, scratching and clawing.

It’s not enough. It’s not working. It’s not enough, but Louis keeps twisting and bucking and scratching and hitting until suddenly – it is. Just as Louis’s vision is starting to fade, the squeezing pressure abruptly stops and Harry rears back.

“Fuck!” He’s shaking his head over and over, and he punches a strong fist into the carpet. Louis doesn’t understand his reprieve, but he takes advantage of it anyway, scooting himself back and taking deep, gasping breaths.

“I can’t!” Harry throws his head back and shouts, and he’s shaking hard enough that Louis thinks he might be breaking to pieces. “I can’t do it!” He turns those mad eyes to Louis, “why can’t I do it Louis?”

And Louis thinks he might be sick – pain and fear all rolling together into one overwhelming, screaming sensation.

“Louis. Louis I’m so sorry. I _can’t_ —Louis _please._ ”

He doesn’t know what Harry’s pleading for, but he thinks he can guess. _Don’t tell anyone. Don’t take her away from me._ Or maybe he’s wrong, and Harry is pleading with him to just drop dead, to end it himself.

“Please Louis. _Please._ ”

And Louis thinks that now Harry might actually let him escape; only he doesn’t have the strength anymore.

And Louis can’t speak. Can’t do anything but steady his breathing and keep his eyes firmly focused on the broken creature in front of him who’s still muttering a litany of _Please… Sorry… Please… Louis._

He doesn’t really understand what’s happening, but he thinks he recognizes this Harry. Can see this Harry from his bedside, and he even thinks he recognizes the tears – thinks maybe he’s seen them before, though the memory is coloured with pain.

It's funny, Louis can see a past version of him in this room, sitting with this man – 5 years ago… 2 years even. A version of him who crawled over and pulled Harry into his arms. Who reassured him, and rocked him, and murmured back _it’s ok, I forgive you, I won’t tell, you’ll be ok, we’ll be ok._

But that Louis doesn’t exist anymore. Because Louis’ words are always jumbled now, and his body is nervous, and he doesn’t trust himself not to open his mouth and somehow turn Harry back into the man with wild eyes who wants him dead.

Harry let’s out another sob, still whispering, still shaking, still hurting, and Louis feels another tug from his past. He crawls forwards a step.

Harry is curled over on hands and knees, his head resting on the floor, and as Louis watches his hands twist into fists and he rocks backwards. Louis moves closer and reaches out.

It’s stupid really, and his instincts are telling him not to. But he’s not just Louis who’s been alone for over a year, he’s not Louis who fought and scratched and dug and _scraped_ his way out of every situation that tried to hurt him. He’s not Louis that lived in a compound and thought it was a new family until it wasn’t. He’s not Louis that lost his sisters and his mother and all his friends. He’s not even Louis who was young and stupid and ran away to London because he thought his family would _always be there_.

He’s none of them.

Because he’s all of them.

And they all have instincts, and they’re all so loud, and maybe one of them is saying run, and one is saying hide and one is saying freeze, but the older one. The one that’s been there from the beginning – the one that used to tell him to wrap up his little sisters until they weren’t scared anymore, and make his mom tea when she was sad – is looking at this crying boy and his heart is breaking.

Louis places his palm on Harry’s shaking back.

Harry sobs again, loudly, and for a moment _new Louis_ kicks in and he starts to pull back, but Harry is shaking harder now, shaking and cowering, his big frame curled onto itself, a shivering mess under his hand.

He inches a little closer.

It’s not—it doesn’t make sense. This isn’t safe, and Harry betrayed him, and he tried to kill him, and Louis knows better. And yet, he’s been alone for so long that he started to realize – he’s not ok. He’s not. He _can_ do this alone. He knows that now. But he doesn’t want to. And what’s he got to lose at this point? Harry’s already tried to kill him and failed. Louis has an advantage now, because he _knows_ that Harry can’t kill him. And now he knows what Harry’s hiding.

So he shuffles forward a little further, channeling his past and runs his hand gently up and down Harry’s back.

There’s a tiny moment when he thinks that he might have made the right decision before Harry darts forwards. Louis jumps back, only he’s gotten too close, and he’s too slow to stop Harry colliding with him head on. He braces himself for the pain, waits for it to burst over him with a dreadful inevitability. He waits. But for once, _finally,_ it doesn’t come.

Harry’s big arms wrap around his middle firmly, but not squeezing, not hurting, and his heavy head rests on Louis’ shoulder, hair tickling Louis’ nose. It’s… well, Louis isn’t going to say _nice_. The threat of another being so close, and the danger of teeth right next to his throat is unsettling, and there’s something wet soaking into his t-shirt and Louis doesn’t know if it’s coming from Harry’s eyes, nose or mouth. And on top of that, Harry’s sobs are rattling Louis’ already tender chest painfully… but it’s something. Something that Louis hasn’t had in a long, long time.

He shuffles them back until he can rest his back on the bed, and his body is probably shaking by the time he manages it but he can’t tell because it’s already shaking from the man wrapped around him.

Louis doesn’t hug back.

He can’t. Not yet. He’s still too new to contact, too unsure of whether he even _likes_ this man and he certainly can’t begin to trust him. But he rests his hands on Harry’s back and slowly – so very slowly, relaxes into the feeling of steadily being unraveled after being touch-starved for so long. And he sits there, as Harry’s sobs turn to sniffles, and sniffles to steady breathing.

He’s still there when the sun finishes going down down, resting carefully albeit a little painfully against his bed. And he’s still there when it comes back up again, bleary eyed and shivery despite his human blanket. It’s too much. It’s all too much, and he can drink in the touch because humans weren’t meant to be alone, but he can’t sleep in the arms of his captor and betrayer. Of a stranger.

He shuts his eyes anyway, letting them rest, and he feels it when Harry finally wakes and clambers off him. He feels it when he’s carefully lifted into his bed. And he feels the gentle hand run through his hair and the whispered _I’m so sorry Louis_ against his forehead.

\--

When Louis wakes up, he’s still in his bed, sheets tucked in around him and he’s alone.

For a second, he thinks he’s dreamed it all – thinks that maybe the soreness around his throat and the ache in his back are just from a cold, or his fall, and maybe they’ve given him some of the doctor’s special tea again and he’s been tossing and turning in a dream of his own making.

But when he looks up, the door down the corridor is open. And when Louis looks across, Harry is standing there, his forehead creased in a frown and his body moving nervously.

And when he looks down, there’s a little girl looking up at him. A tiny blonde girl with beautifully braided hair and the clearest grey eyes Louis has ever seen.

“Louis,” Harry’s voice is softer than Louis has ever heard it. “This is Lux. She’s three years old.”


	9. The secret people

Louis can’t stop staring. In fact, judging by the wide eyed fidgeting of the child, he’s probably being more than a little creepy. But clearly, the excitement of someone new to look at is overruling her fear of him.

_Has she even met anyone else? How long has she been here? Is she a prisoner? How is she alive??_

Louis has too many questions and he doesn’t know where to start. Not least because he’s still very aware that the man watching him cautiously from across the room tried to kill him less than 24 hours ago. Possibly even less than 12 – Louis isn’t sure how long he’s slept.

Probably not long, judging by the way he’s feeling.

He tears his eyes away for a second to focus on his own body, peering beneath the thick rug that’s been covering him. He’s in another of those bizarre Victorian nighties they seem so fond of, although there’s no towel beneath him this time. Still, it’s the same outfit he was in the previous day, so at least no one’s been changing him in his sleep again.

Anyway, he's hopefully reached the stage of recovery where he might notice.

“She doesn’t bite you know.”

 _Oh right._ Louis has only just woken up, and the sudden change in tempo is confusing him. Wasn’t he just about to be murdered?

“Hi…” This used to be easier, he remembers. “I’m Louis.”

The child scrunches her nose in an exaggerated frown and glances over at Harry.

“You’re bad.” She states firmly.

 _Well then._ He looks helplessly at Harry who shrugs, his mouth twitching, just a little.

The little girl – Lux, he thinks Harry said – stamps her foot impatiently. “You’re not s’posed to be here. Daddy said. You’re not allowed. You’re bad.”

Louis stays silent, because he can’t really argue that logic, and because he can feel the pressure of Harry’s judgemental stare on his chest from across the room. It feels a bit like a broken rib.

She shuffles forwards - her feet bare on the carpet, much like Louis’ own, and she’s wearing a stripy blue shift dress that may well have started out life as a pillowcase. Harry had said she was three, and she’s definitely small enough, but her speech makes Louis think that she must be close to four.

“Daddy says you’re hurt.”

Louis nods. Drips of memory come to him, tiny twins with chubby fists and small blue eyed girls giggling and rubbing flour into his hair. His mother, tutting fondly over the state of the floor. He pushes them away before they can do too much damage.

She’s small, and non-threatening, and uncertain, and those clear grey eyes remind him of a young fox, poised and cautious. Louis knows how to deal with that at least.

He sits up slowly and slides his legs sideways off the bed. Harry hasn’t moved, so he takes it as permission to push himself off, and drops shakily down to the floor – folding his legs crossed underneath his nightie.

He nods at her. “I am, a bit.”

“But why are you hurt?”

“Umm.” He checks Harry again and finds him still staring, but he hasn’t moved so... “I was running, and I fell.”

“But why?”

 _Shit_. He can’t afford to fuck this up. Harry’s eyes refuse to leave him, watching, judging – it’s making it hard to breathe. “I was trying to get somewhere.”

“Oh.” There’s a small pause while she takes in the information. “Where?”

“The woods.” _Please look somewhere else. Anywhere._

“But why?”

“I like the woods.”

“Oh.” She nods slowly, and apparently that’s answer enough.

“Daddy said you’re climbing.”

 _Daddy won’t stop looking at me._ Louis’ eyes automatically scan the room, but he already knows that the front door will be locked, and Harry’s blocking the only other exit. This can’t end well. He’s sure Harry’s not going to tolerate one word against the compound, only Louis doesn’t know how to avoid it, and he’s not so good with words anymore. Maybe he never was, he’d always tended to speak first, think later. _Better to just not speak._

He takes a slow breath. “I ran, and then I climbed.” _Stop staring at me._

She shakes her blonde head. “No. You said you ran. You _said_. You lied. You’re bad.”

 _Don’t fuck this up. Don’t fuck this up._ Louis’ thudding heart is making his ribs ache. “I did. I’m sorry.”

She takes a small step closer, and he leans back instinctively. “I forgive you.” She nods. “’It’s nice to forgive people.”

“It is. It's very nice.”

She sits down in front of him, mirroring his crossed legs. “Why were you climbing?”

 _Shit._ Louis doesn’t have an answer. He can’t think of anything to say. And Harry’s just calmly sitting there, like a cat, waiting to pounce. “I umm… I…”

“Luxie, Louis was trying to leave here.” Harry interjects, and Louis jumps.

Her little face scrunches up again. “’s bad to leave. We can’t leave. It’s dang’rus.”

Louis nods. “It is." He blows out a shaky breath.

She huffs and stands back up, apparently done with their conversation.

He shuffles towards his bedside chair, keeping her in his eye line as she clumsily climbs up onto the bed – it’s a practiced manoeuvre, he notes.

“You can’t sleep here, ‘s daddy’s bed.” _What_. “You’re not allowed here.”

She sits atop the bed, towering over him with her legs hanging off the edge.

Louis stares back, helpless.

The knock at the back door is a relief – so much so that Louis doesn’t think to be afraid when Harry goes to answer it.

He turns back to Lux, and now that they’re alone he lets a little of his guard down, giving her a small nod. He can do this – the instincts must still be there under the surface. He needs someone on his side, someone Harry can be swayed by.

The larger man might have fallen asleep on Louis, but he isn’t naïve enough to think that it’s over. Harry still hasn’t said what he plans to do.

“Your dress is pretty.” He tries. “Is blue your favourite colour?”

Her eyes flick to the corridor that Harry disappeared into, and then back at Louis. She nods cautiously. “Blue’s my favourite. What’s your favourite?”

“Orange.” Louis remembers the vivid colours racing across the sky. A beautiful reminder of a night well done – back when he lived in London and his only worries were getting his coursework in on time and his stupid, cheating boyfriends. And then later, afterwards, a reminder that the dark only lasted the night.

“No. You’re wrong.”

_Or not._

“Oh?” His mouth flexes into an unfamiliar smile – the grumpy shake of her head doing more to calm him down than any number of breaths. “What is it then?”

“Purple.”

“Purple like the trees?”

She giggles, “no silly! Purple like flowers”

“Ah.” Louis nods seriously. “Purple like dandelions.”

“No!” She squeals, still giggling. “You stay here.”

Her face is bright and open and he only flinches a little as she hurriedly leaps off the bed and rushes back towards her room.

Alone again, Louis takes a deep, painful breath and leans back against his bedside table, pulling his knees up to his chest. The sound of low voices drifts down the corridor and then abruptly stops.

Louis hugs his legs to himself as a blonde haired man with wide, startled eyes appears. _Niall._ Niall glances quickly at the empty bed and then spins to look through the open door to the back room, staring for a second as Lux laboriously tugs a large box from beneath her bed.

“Harry!” His shout makes Louis jump in the quiet room. “Harry the door’s open and Louis’ gone! Harry?!”

The man in question jogs quickly up behind him, his eyes meeting Louis’ with a frown and a tiny quirk of his mouth. “It’s ok Niall. Louis knows.”

“Shit!” The Irishman looks frantic, his body twitching in aborted movements – Louis notes them all. “What if Simon finds out? What if he tells someone? What do we do?!?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Louis flinches. He doesn’t like the sound of that, and neither does Niall. “Harry no. This is serious. We have to do something!”

Harry frowns, and Louis suspects there are nuances in it that he isn’t picking up, but for now he’s just proud that he gets that much – Harry isn’t happy about something. “Well what would you suggest, Niall?”

“We need to take him away. We can say he died. He got an infection in his lungs and didn’t make it.”

Harry’s frown deepens. _Even more unhappy_. “We can’t leave him, he’s not healed yet, he’d be dead in days.”

 _Yes,_ Louis thinks. _Take me somewhere and leave me. Drive away._ If they expect him to die – so much the better. Louis is strong. He’s not going to die.

Niall shakes his head. “No. I know. Maybe not? I mean, he wants to leave and at least he’d have a chance. And if he dies then…” He hesitates, and his speech is slow when he starts again. “Then I suppose we wouldn’t have to worry anymore.”

_Yes. Yes. Yes._

“No.” Harry’s tone is sharp, and brooks no disagreement. Almost as if he hadn’t tried to end Louis with his bare hands less than a day ago.

Niall deflates. “I know. I don’t really want to kill the lad… but what do we do Hazza?”

Louis lets out a disappointed sigh and relaxes his arms around himself a little – at least Niall didn’t suggest to kill him now. The shift rocks the table he’s leaning on and the blonde spins to face him. Niall’s forehead is creased but it’s not a frown. Louis doesn’t know what it is.

“Ah shit mate, I didn’t know you were there. I didn’t really want to kill you, Louis.”

Louis keeps his mouth shut and nods. Niall still looks unsettled, so he holds himself still.

“Uncle Niall!” All three of them jump as a small darting blur rushes into the room and latches onto Niall’s leg.

“Uncle Niall, this’s Lou-e. Lou-e likes woods.” She turns to Louis, a frown on her small face. “We’re not allowed in the woods. It’s dang’rus.”

The three of them stare at her as she wonders over to Louis, a large book grasped firmly in her hands. When Louis tilts his head he can see the title: ‘Software Engineering for Dummies’.

“Lou-e is bad and he’s not s’posed to be here but he said sorry so it’s ok. Lou-e likes purple. It’s his favourite.” She nods. “Look Lou-e, I have a purple flower. It’s my favourite. You can look at it.”

She offers him the book, and Louis takes it with only slightly shaky hands. He glances over at Harry before he opens it, but the long-haired man’s face is unreadable. Lux surges forwards impatiently and flips the pages open to where carefully pressed between them is a deep purple crocus.

“Wow, what a lovely nettle!”

“No!” Her little voice is a delighted squeak, “you’re silly! Daddy, Lou-e silly! It's a cr’cus lou-e.”

“Oh.” He touches the stem carefully. “It’s beautiful.”

“Daddy helped.” She whispers reverently. “I finded it. It’s mommy’s favourite.”

“You’re mommy’s here?” Louis asks in interest.

“No silly. Mommy’s in heav-in” _Oh._

“It’s lovely.” Louis wants to ask if she goes outside a lot, if many people know she’s here, how long she’s been here. How her mother died. He doesn’t.

Niall breaks the silence, coming forwards a few steps to tower over Louis. “It’s good to see you up and about Louis, Liam’s been asking to come and see you but we couldn’t…” He trails off.

 _But he isn’t allowed, because he doesn’t know._ Louis fills in.And it seems they’re also going to ignore that Niall wanted to kill him. That’s fine. Louis can push it to the back of his mind. He won’t forget though. He pulls his legs in a little tighter, feeling the ache in his chest.

Harry snorts, “I bet he has.”

Louis is missing something, he can tell, and for a minute he considers asking. He looks over to Harry and frowns, letting their eyes connect for a beat. It’s enough. “When you first got here Liam thought you were going to die. It’s why he insisted on being the one to look after you.” He hesitates for a moment. “It’s lucky he didn’t realize you were trying to get away – he’d never have let you out of his sight.”

 _He didn’t._ Thinks Louis, but it’s not worth saying.

“He’s a worrier mate,” Niall jumps in, “Don’t stress about it.”

Louis hadn’t planned on it.

Harry nods. “Reem told him that your bones were weak. He thinks he broke your rib pushing you off the roof. He’s blaming himself.”

Louis has something to say about _that_ as well, and he isn’t sure if it’s guilt over Liam feeling bad, or anger at Greg that makes him open his mouth this time. “No.” He coughs to clear his throat, all that talking with Lux has left it sore. “Greg broke my rib.”

They’re both frowning now. “Shit.” _Niall seems to be fond of that word_. Louis thinks. “Shit—when he tackled you out of the van. We told him not to – where did he think you were gonna go? Shit. All that time you were here… Louis that was _days._ ”

Niall growls and kicks the bedside chair, and Louis hurriedly pushes himself back.

“Uncle Niall!” Lux scolds, and Louis jumps again at the child who’s suddenly standing far too close. “You scared Lou-e. He’s hurt. That’s not nice. We’ve forgive him.”

“Forgiven.” Harry corrects gently.

“Forgiven.” She repeats, turning to frown at Niall. “We forgiven him.”

“Ah I’m sorry Lux… sorry Louis.” Niall nods at him and after a pointed glance from Lux, Louis nods back. She sits down on the floor apparently satisfied.

“You didn’t say anything.” It’s Harry, and it’s true, so Louis nods again.

Niall and Harry share a long look, and Louis focuses instead on the little girl as she idly flicks through her book to other flowers, each pressed carefully between the pages.

Louis isn’t sure what’s about to happen, and part of him is honestly expecting the two of them to team up and kill him where he sits - but he only jumps a little as Niall abruptly walks away. Still, he presses himself harder against the side of his bedwhen Niall comes back, guitar in hand.

“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do with you Louis,” he starts, “but I have one very important question. Be careful now, the answer will decide your future here.”

Lux has jumped up excitedly, and all three of them have their teeth bared and Louis keeps telling himself that it’s a smile, and not a threat. He squeezes his knees, his arms twitching from the exertion.

Niall takes a step closer. “…can you sing?”

\--

He doesn’t sing.

Not because he can’t _per se_ – Louis has always considered himself a reasonable singer – not brilliant, but he can carry a tune. But Louis knows his chest isn’t up to it, and he isn’t sure that his head is either. Louis used to talk to himself, back when he first decided to go it alone, and after a while, talking turned to singing, and singing turned to humming, and then eventually humming turned to just… nothing.

And really, he’s been too quiet for far too long to sing.

He doesn’t tell Niall that though – instead he nods, and then makes a point of coughing a few times.

It’s enough for Harry to declare that he isn’t allowed. Just like Louis knew he would. He’s starting to get the hang of the man now – it seems that purposely killing Louis is one thing, but having him die by accident is entirely a different matter. If Harry really decides to kill him, then presumably he’ll end up dead, but it won’t be because his treatment was neglected.

Fortunately, Niall is fairly horrified that he’d forgotten about Louis’ delicate state and declares that he and Lux will perform to the group, so the four of them traipse into Lux’s room where they can safely be noisy. Louis perches carefully on the desk chair and declines all offers to sit with the group around the small table in the centre of the room.

He’s too tense to be confortable, and the unfamiliar sound of music keeps trying to dredge up a life that Louis has worked for years to forget. Still, it’s nice. Sort of. They sing children’s songs, mostly, and they have a sort of Irish lilt to them that make Louis think that they must have been songs that Niall himself grew up with.

He doesn’t ask.

Louis’ eyes are starting to get heavy before Niall finally begs off to help with the cooking for the compound dinner, and Louis returns to the room he’s starting to think of as ‘his’. He’s somehow missed lunch then - he must have slept for longer than he’d thought this morning.

Harry and Lux disappear into the bathroom after that, and Louis hears the faint sound of splashing and assumes that teeth and toilet issues are being taken care of. By the time they come out, the sun is starting to set, and they both disappear into her room. And then Harry comes out alone, and hands Louis some bread and jam that must have been in her room all along. And then finally it’s quiet again, and Louis slowly lets his body unwind, blowing out a breath that feels like it’s been held since the moment he woke up.

\--

The night is long, and Louis spends most of it jumping at shadows. But by the morning, he’s finally started to settle down a bit, and he makes the decision to leave his bed and transfer to the plastic chair next to it. Harry brings him some more bread and jam from Lux’s room, and Louis isn’t surprised when he retires to the old office, rather than going out like he usually would. Louis hasn’t exactly done much to gain his trust.

He is surprised however, when Lux edges out of her room and immediately comes to stand in front of him. It seems she’s free to move around then, now that the secret’s out.

“Louuuu-e. Lou-e are you sick?”

He clears his throat and takes a few sips of water. “Hi Lux. No, I’m not sick. I just hurt my chest.”

“No.” She frowns and shakes her head. This morning the braids are gone and she has a neat, curly ponytail and the same blue dress as the day before. “You’re sick. You’ve got the sick dress.”

Louis snorts.

He looks down at the stupid white nightie _._ It's got frills on the sleeves, and he’s embarrassed to note that it’s starting to smell a little. “Daddy’s sick dress?” He asks, thinking of daddy’s bed that he’s stillkeeping from its owner.

She looks down at the floor and scuffs her small bare toes against the carpet. “No. Mommy’s sick dress.”

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Louis feels it like a punch to the face. He’s sleeping in her dad’s bed and wearing her dead mother’s clothes. _Fuck._

“I’m not sick.” He says carefully. “I think I need a new dress.”

“Ok.” She nods and disappears and Louis pulls up his knees and drops his head onto them. Even without the threat of death and imprisonment he misses being alone. It was easier, simpler. He can’t seem to top messing things up these days.

There’s no sound from Harry, so Louis assumes that he’s still holed up in the office down the corridor doing some leader-type things for the compound. Plotting murders and kidnappings, that sort of thing.

“Lou-e. I got your clothes.” Lux pads back from her room, struggling under a pile of dark blue material. “I got blue. It’s your favourite. We didn't got a dress.”

“Oh.” Louis lets out an exaggerated sad sigh. “That's a shame. Never mind. I thought my favourite colour was purple.” He takes them gratefully, quickly pulling on the soft jogging bottoms beneath the nightie and stripping off the offending item. He folds it carefully and puts it on the bedside table, clumsily pulling on the darker blue t-shirt over his head. The clothes are big on him, but he’ll manage.

“No. That’s not right. That’s wrong. You’re wrong.”

“Oh.” He's not surprised.

“Yeah.” She lets out a put upon sigh. “It’s blue.”

“It’s blue.” He parrots. Blue like _water._ He hates blue.

“Yeah. Lou-e, I can hide and you—umm—you find me.”

He smiles. “Ok.”

It’s freeing really - makes him think that maybe things can be simple again.

He shuts his eyes and counts to twenty; his voice makes it to ten before it cracks. It’s progress.

\--

“…eight, niyn… umm… t-ten. Lou-e! I find you!”

It’s his turn again, and Louis is pretty proud of his hiding place this time.

He’s in the laundry basket. Not original really, but he couldn’t resist.

It’s in the small toilet behind the door, and it’s one of those large wicker creations that small children love to hide in. Well, small children, and apparently malnourished twenty-something year-olds.

He’d taken a moment to pull out the dirty clothes and towels and found himself suddenly grateful for the plastic sheet that he’d discovered on his mattress. The acrid smell of urine still drifts faintly around the room. In the basket, it makes his eyes water.

“Lou-e I find you!”

The quiet slap of feet on the linoleum is all the information he has, but it’s quickly gone with the impatience of a three year-old.

“Daddy!”

The call is faint, but Louis hears it. Apparently her patience has run out.

Harry hears it too it seems, and his voice is equally quiet, mimicking the whisper. “What is it sweetie?”

“I can’t find Lou-e!”

He’s got his shoulders wedged down and his feet poking up, Arse in the air. He really should have thought this through.

“How long’s he been gone?” The urgency is Harry’s voice is not a good sign.

“Umm. Ten.”

There’s silence. Silence and then the sound of feet as Harry races around the house checking the rooms. He doesn’t check the basket, and Louis’ small shouts are lost between Harry’s yells of “Louie! Louie!!?”

He’s got one leg out now, and Louis resigns himself to a bit more indignity as he starts to rock the basket.

He can still hear Harry from within his bedroom. “Listen Lux. Now this is very important. When did you last see Louis?”

“Ten.”

“Ok. So he’s been gone for ten minutes. How did he leave?”

There’s a faint giggle. “No you silly! I counted to ten.”

“You counted…”

With a monumental effort, Louis tumbles the basket over and quickly wriggles himself out, darting into the corridor.

Right into a rapidly moving Harry.

“Shit!”

The bigger man bowls him over easily, and follows him down to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Harry doesn’t land on him though, and Louis is desperately grateful – Harry’s full weight impacting on his healing chest would probably have solved the man’s problems far more easily than driving him somewhere and leaving him to die.

Harry could have killed him. But he didn’t.

Louis stores that information away. “Harry.” He nods with forced calm.

“Shit!” Harry scrambles upright and hovers above Louis on his knees.

The relief on his face is obvious.

Harry takes a searching look over him that goes on for far too long.

_I’m right here, same as always._

The bigger man’s hand drops slowly down, knuckles dragging across the soft fabric of the blue t-shirt, raising the hairs on Louis’ skin. A tremor runs through his tall frame.

Louis holds his breath.

“You’re wearing my…” Harry’s question trails off, and Louis wants to say something, but he’s too rattled, too shaky.

 _I didn’t steal your clothes!_ “I…” He can’t get the words out.

There’s a faint creak from the laundry basket, and a sudden giggle from Lux.

Harry clears his throat, breaking the moment. “I shouted.” He states.

“I know.” Louis takes a breath. He feels dizzy.

“You didn’t answer.”

“I tried.”

Harry nods sharply.

“Louis you can’t do that. You can’t just go ignoring me and hiding from us.”

 _I didn’t._ He wants to explain, but he’s not quite recovered from his impact with the floor.

“I can’t let you leave here Louis, I can’t.” Louis hadn’t asked, but it seems that fright has loosened Harry’s tongue and the words just come spilling out. “I don’t like this ok? I didn’t ask for this! I don’t want to capture people! I don’t want to fucking kill people! I can’t do this if you’re going to keep fighting me Louis! Please just let me trust you!”

The sudden sound of crying is enough to stop the diatribe, and Harry turns swiftly to where little Lux is sitting on the carpet, her face red and scrunched with large tears running down her cheeks.

“Daddy shouted.”

“Oh Luxie, I’m so sorry.”

Harry scoops her up and cuddles her close, muttering comforting words into her hair and heading towards her bedroom.

At the door, he pauses. “The clothes look like they fit. Keep them.” And then he’s gone, pulling the door shut behind them.

 _They look like they fit._ Louis stares down at the baggy shirt hanging off his thin frame and the trousers that he’s knotted tightly at the drawstring waist and rolled up at the ankles. He pushes the comment and the touching into a dark, squirmy corner of his brain.

It’s a long time before Louis gets up from the floor.

\--

The rest of the day is less eventful, though Harry isn't talking to him, and he still isn’t willing to leave the rooms. Louis hopes that someone comes with food soon, he's getting a bit tired of bread. _A month ago you hadn’t had bread in a year._ The speed at which he’s gotten used to comfort again is a little alarming.

In the afternoon, Louis takes a nap – his aching body reminding him that he nearly died just weeks ago, and when he wakes up, Harry is sitting by his bedside with a cup of something brown, and Louis doesn’t dare hope that it might be tea.

It isn’t. But it’s sort of soupy and _warm_ , and it makes Louis feel a hundred times better.

“I’m sorry I shouted at you – Lux told me what happened.”

It’s apology soup then.

Louis takes another sip and nods.

Maybe Harry should shout more often.

“I thought you’d run away. You really scared me Louis. Do you understand why I can’t let you run away?”

Suddenly the soup isn’t quite as nice.

“Simon knows about Lux. If I get free, he’ll take it out on her.”

“What?! No! That’s not what—Simon’s not a monster Louis.”

Louis gives back his best incredulous stare – he wonders if his features still remember how to.

“He could take her away though. He might… I know he’s wanted her with him ever since her mother died.”

“Then why doesn’t he…”

Harry shakes his head. “She’s ok here. She is. We look after her.”

“She was born here?” Louis guesses.

Harry shakes his head. “No, she was born in the second compound.” _The Farm._ Louis’ brain supplies. _Breeding stock._

But that doesn’t make sense.

“Then why…?”

“I don’t know why Simon let her come here. It’s not usual. No one from the second compound ever comes here. I always thought that maybe--” He cuts himself off, sharply. “Lauren was dying already when she came here. It made sense for her to come somewhere more comfortable.”

And that doesn’t make sense either. Wouldn’t it have been better for her to stay somewhere with better access to medical supplies? Surely a breeding Farm was better equipped to handle sick people? And if what Louis had heard was true, then they would have had a hospital on call anyway. It seems that the more answers Louis gets the more confusing everything becomes.

“And her father?” Louis doesn’t know why it’s important to him, but he can’t stop the question.

“She came from the _second compound_ Louis. I’m not going to insult you by pretending you don’t know exactly what it is.”

_I don’t though. Not exactly._

Louis shrugs and waits.

Harry signs. “I don’t know Louis. Simon told me he died. It doesn’t matter anyway, I’m her dad now.”

“He drowned?” Louis should let it go, but he can’t, and something else is tugging at his memory. _Lauren._ He doubts Harry realised that the name had slipped out.

“I don’t know.” He sounds frustrated, and maybe Louis should stop pushing his luck but...

“Her mother was already showing signs when she came here?” _Why would they do that? Why would they bring someone who’d succumbed?_

“No. It was something else. Some auto immune disorder or something. She was medicated, but then it ran out. Simon searched for years to try and find more.”

 _Lauren._ “She got sick?”

“She did.” Harry is fidgeting and Louis almost feels bad for pushing, but he's answering the questions still, and Louis has so many, and he needs to know how Lux is _alive_. “She got pneumonia. We thought it would kill her, but it just made her really weak. Weak enough to succumb.”

 _Lauren. She drowned._ Louis hears the echo of Niall’s voice in his head and suddenly remembers. Lauren. The last compound leader. Niall had said that she and Harry were inseparable. _And now I know why._

“Niall already knew.” He realizes suddenly. _That’s why he wanted you to be in charge. Why he defended you against Lou._

“Niall knew, and Reem. We needed a doctor.”

“And no-one else?”

Harry says nothing, frowning at the floor, but Louis can fill in the gaps. No-one else knew – no one else _knows_. Just Harry, Niall, Reem, Simon… and maybe the dark man who was there with him? His name was Z—something?

There couldn’t be many more - Farms worked closely with hospitals, they wouldn’t let Harry keep the child. Not if they knew.

 _She’s leverage_. He finally gets it, but he keeps his mouth shut. Whatever reason was given when she first arrived, Louis doesn’t know, but right now? Right now they have a grumbling compound reluctantly supplying food to the Farm. On Harry’s orders, and before that - Lauren's. _And neither of them are about to deny Simon when he has the power to swoop in and take her away._

“Louis?”

Louis turns slowly, exhausted from his thoughts and all the tangled questions rattling around inside his head.

“Tomorrow’s Friday.” Harry says slowly, and there's something in his voice that Louis can't understand.

He frowns and shrugs, wondering if that’s supposed to mean something to him, or if Harry’s just desperate to change the topic of conversation.

“We have the meeting on Fridays.”

Louis nods and shrugs again. It doesn’t really have anything to do with him. Harry might be acting friendly, but Louis is still a prisoner, and he knows far too much to be let out. More so, now.

Harry pauses for a second, staring. Louis twitches once, twice – he doesn’t like being studied. “Zayn’s coming.”

 _Shit._ Louis freezes, Zayn is coming.

And Zayn means Simon.

\--

Louis spends the morning playing with Lux, and trying not to jump every time he hears a noise. He really doesn’t want to have to see Simon. Harry didn’t think the man was coming though – only Zayn this time.

When lunch time comes around Reem comes over, bringing them oranges and fresh fish, and more of the bread that Louis is finally tired of. He naps as she chats to Lux, and when he wakes up, he gets his own check-up.

And then it’s evening.

\--

Niall takes over Louis duty whilst Harry goes to the meeting, and Louis can’t find it in himself to be offended. He doesn’t want anything to happen to Lux, but he’d still be tempted to try to escape. Harry said Simon wouldn’t hurt her so…

“Mate you need to stop twitching”

Niall it seems, isn't quite as patient as Harry. Louis never would have expected it, but he finds himself missing Liam's quiet patience.

“I don't like this.”

“It's just a meeting Louis.” The cheerful Irish accent is getting on his nerves.

“It's my life they're discussing.”

“I know mate, but it's going to be ok.”

“You were plotting my death yesterday.” Louis calmly points out.

Niall has the grace to blush. “I didn't want you dead Lou, honestly. But it's little Lux. We have to protect her.”

Louis sighs in defeat. He's only known her for a few days and he already agrees. They have to protect her. Still though, Harry seemed sure that Simon wouldn't hurt her. It's interesting that Niall apparently doesn't share that belief.

The sound of a key in the front door makes them both jump, heads turning in unison as Harry and the man Louis recognises as Zayn slips quickly through the door. Harry locks it firmly behind him, pocketing the key.

“Zayn mate.” Niall pats the dark haired man on the shoulder. “It's good to see ya.”

Zayn nods seriously, but he’s moving in a way that Louis recognises as agitation. He’s nervous. “You too man. Shame we didn't get to chat, but I've gotta get going.”

“Yeah yeah, next time.”

“I'm sorry man.” Zayn places a hand on Harry's back, and Louis only now notices the dejected hunch of his shoulders.

“Just ask him Zayn. You just need to explain.”

Zayn shakes his head. “Look H,” his voice is quiet, and his forehead is lined with tension. Louis focuses on the tiny twitches in his arms. _Bad news._ He hesitates, glances at Niall, and then even at Louis before turning back to Harry. _Very bad news._ “Look. Simon’s coming to take Louis in two weeks. Ok? Two weeks. There's nothing you can do. He’ll come the Friday. He’s—he’s not happy with the escape attempts.”

“But I told him! I told him everything.” Harry’s voice is low, quiet, and Louis suspects that he hasn't really noticed that Louis’ there.

“You told him after he already knew H. It’s not the same. If you want to smuggle out strays then I’m not going to stop you, but learn to fucking lie first.”

Louis swallows heavily and pushes aside the new information on his captor. He needs to focus on what’s important. Two weeks. A lot can happen in two weeks. Harry only nods, but Zayn is still twitching. _That wasn’t the bad news._

Harry sighs. “I know. I know. Just tell me what you needed to so you can get back. I don’t want you in trouble too.”

The room is silent, and the air feels tight, and Louis suddenly doesn’t want to know.

“H. Harry.” Zayn shakes his head and glances over at the locked door. “I shouldn’t be— I can’t— Look. It’s nothing OK? I have to go.”

There’s another pause, and Zayn shakes his head again. “OK. No. I have to. Harry please. Please just— Just understand. It’s Simon. OK?” He stares at Harry, and Louis sees his chest rise with the size of his breath. “Simon’s been getting awful broody lately yeah? Do you understand?”

Harry freezes, and Louis watches as all the muscles in his neck bunch. He nods slowly, and then shakes his head.

Zayn continues. “He’s coming in two weeks Harry. _Two weeks_. You have two weeks.”

“Ok.” Harry’s voice cracks. “Ok. Thank you.”

“Harry do you understand? He’s coming in two weeks. You’ll finally get your rooms to yourself. _All_ of them.”

Harry seems to have shut down, and Niall is staring with wide eyed shock, so Louis steps in cautiously. “Thank you Zayn. We’ll see you in two weeks.”

Zayn studies Harry for a moment, but the bigger man is staring at the door to Lux’s room. He nods, and heads towards the back door. “I’ll let myself out yeah? See you in two weeks.”

Niall shakes himself out of his shock first and jogs after him. “Zayn, wait. Zayn!”

The bang of the emergency exit pulling shut is sharp, and the sudden sound seems to snap Harry out of his thoughts.

“Louis?” He calls slowly.

Louis shuts his eyes, refusing to move, not daring to turn his head. It’s a careful truce, this thing that he and Harry are slowly forging, and he can’t bear it—can’t stand the thought of having his safety ripped away again. Because it’s his fault. All of it. It’s his fault.

“Louis?” A little stronger this time.

Louis shakes his head. He’s not ready. He’s not ready. And poor Lux. Poor little Lux.

“Louis."

Louis grits his teeth, and shuts his eyes and turns slowly. When he opens them, Harry is reaching out to him, and Louis has been cataloging his facial expressions all week, and now he knows that he can add fear to the list.

“He's coming to take Lux away”. Harry's voice is flat and toneless.

“I know.”

Harry’s hand drops to his side, and Louis has never seen him look so defeated. “Louis, what are we going to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from a John Wyndham book. I am obsessed. 
> 
> \--
> 
> I find child speak a little tricky - too much and it's irritating, too little and you have a savant on your hands. 
> 
> Fortunately, I have a nearly-four-year-old nephew whom I've been following around with a notebook. Some of the text is based on our real life conversations. I can say with his full and absolute backing that I am indeed silly, and that my favorite is always wrong.


	10. The truth, universally acknowledged

“Can we bargain with something?” Niall is sitting in the office on the old teacher’s chair, his head resting in his hands. Harry is pacing opposite the desk and Louis is uncomfortably perched on a stack of papers.

“Fine. Ok. What?”

There's silence as the three of them think, and Louis feels like he can almost see Harry's brain working. “Food? Supplies?” Louis tries.

“We're already giving all we can spare, and Simon doesn't want anything else.” Harry sounds frustrated. Louis can't blame him. “Are we completely sure that he's going to take her? Maybe we misunderstood?”

“No.” Niall shakes his head. “When I walked him out he told me to ‘be ready’. Why else would he say that?”

“Shit.” Harry sounds so resigned, and Louis doesn't understand why he isn’t angrier.

“We could leave?” Niall supplies. “Like run away?”

“What about the dogs?” Louis still flinches when he hears a bark. Thankfully Harry's rooms aren't near the kennels.

Harry's face scrunched up in confusion. “I don’t think Simon wants any dogs?”

“No, if you run.”

“You want to run away with the dogs?” Niall looks confused too.

“No. When you run, won't they send the dogs?”

There’s a pause.

Harry’s the first to speak. “Umm, I don’t think they’d be very good at that. The sheep dogs are pretty well trained, but they usually just chase sheep.”

“Lou’s Chihuahua might go for you Haz.” Niall grins weakly over at Louis. “She’s got a thing for his legs. Can’t blame her though can you?”

Louis looks blankly across at Harry’s baggy denim jeans and shrugs, his mind racing. _Greg said they would send dogs. Why would he lie? How could he have known…?_

“Ah well, I guess you can’t tell today. You’ll just have to trust me. Wait till summer comes and he brings out the tiny shorts.”

Louis jumps as Harry leans over and puts a careful hand on his shoulder. “Louis, we don’t have search dogs here. They have to be really well trained and no-one knows how.”

Louis shakes his head. “Greg said--”

“Then Greg lied.”

“How..?”

Harry sighs, and Louis is finally starting to get used to faces again: _pity. Fucking pity._ “It’s not exactly—I mean, you won’t go near the kennels.” He glances over at Niall, but the blonde is staring intently at the cluttered surface of the desk. “It’s not a secret that you’re afraid of dogs Louis.”

 _Well yeah._ “Dogs are dangerous.”

“Mate, it’s OK to have a fear of dogs, it’s not unusual, but they won’t hurt you.” Niall had apparently decided to re-join the conversation.

“No.” So Louis was right, this place made people complacent. “They are.”

Words seem to do Louis little good these days, and they still _fucking hurt_ , so he goes with a demonstration and lifts one side of his shirt.

“I saw that.” Harry’s hand reaches out to gently probe the jagged bite mark and Louis feels a shiver run through him. “Before when I cleaned you. What happened?”

“Dogs.” Louis decides to ignore the ‘cleaning’ part. It’s probably best if they never talk about it again. Ever. “Wild dogs. A pack.”

Harry's nose wrinkles, and his eyes are focused on the mark. “But why would they attack you?”

Louis looks away in frustration. “They were hungry. We were all hungry.”

“Surely there was something easier to go for than you? I mean, like a rabbit or something?” Niall’s voice sounds a little desperate.

Louis shrugs. “I wasn’t moving much.” It isn’t his only scar these days, but it’s still his biggest.

The muted sound of Lux reciting stories to herself filters down the corridor, and it's a strange but not unwelcome distraction from the memories Louis is fighting against.

“They thought you were dead.” Harry’s voice drops into the quiet. “Or too weak to escape?”

“Dead enough to go for.” Louis nods. “Funny, that’s been happening a lot lately.”

Lux’s game moves closer down the corridor, her voice a little louder. They should stop this conversation maybe, but no, Louis needs to make them understand. The need to understand this.

He takes a deep breath. “Simon will have dogs. Farms have dogs.”

“We’re a farm, and we don’t have dogs. Or like, not attack dogs, or rescue dogs or whatever.” Niall is still a little wide-eyed, but he seems to be recovering.

“No, _Farms._ Have dogs.” Louis stresses.

Niall frowns. “Like I said mate, we don’t. Why should Simon?”

“Shit.” Harry hangs his head. “No Niall, Louis’s right.” He shakes his head slowly. His eyes are shut, and Louis suddenly gets it.

“Oh.” Louis’ voice is quiet. “You don’t know.”

“Know what?” He’s irritated. Louis tenses, prepared to jump away if he needs to, but he answers the question.

“Simon’s Farm. It’s not like this one.”

“I don’t understand. A farm’s a farm.” The blonde’s voice is a little louder. “Harry?”

The sound of Lux’s stories stops.

“I’m sorry Niall.” Harry’s eyes are still closed.

It’s too quiet, and for once Louis can’t stand it. “It’s why you caught me. To take me there. That’s why Simon wants people.”

“No, I know that, but I don’t get it. What’s so bad about a _farm._ You’re acting like there’s some big secret.”

“There is.” It’s Harry, and his voice is flat and empty.

“Then why don’t I know about it??”

“You do.” Harry again.

Louis frowns. It seems Harry’s joined Liam’s school of thinking he knows people better than they know themselves.

“You know some of it at least.” Harry sighs. “Simon’s compound is different to ours. They don’t farm food – well, not much food. That’s why we have to keep sending them supplies.”

“So what do they farm?”

Harry’s silent, so Louis supposes it’s up to him.

“Us. They farm us. They kidnap people and lock them in cages and force them to breed. All babies born are sent to the nearest hospital for tests, and anyone who succumbs.” He coughs, wincing at the pain in his throat.

“That doesn’t— I don’t—How can you know that?” Niall is shaking his head, and Louis can tell he doesn’t believe it.

Louis nods his head. “People escape, sometimes. They tell stories, pass them on. There are five in this area - more further north.”

“No. We would know.”

“You do.” Louis suddenly gets it, echoing Harry’s earlier words. _You just don’t realise._ “Harry knows. Greg knows a bit. Reem maybe? There’s probably others.” _Others who suspect,_ but they won’t say anything. They won’t risk their own safety.

And those that couldn’t deal with it left, and didn’t come back. Like Greg’s sister. Or maybe they didn’t leave? Maybe Simon just came and swept them away. How many people had just ‘decided’ one day to leave for the second compound? Louis suddenly wants to talk to Greg _. I know where your sister is._

Harry hasn’t moved an inch, and his eyes are still shut so Louis pushes past the pain and continues. “The stories are for people at risk. People who’re alone. Your compound’s too big to be taken. It’s better for everyone if you don’t know.”

“But we give them food, every week almost… How could Simon do this? How could anyone do this? Keeping people in cages?!” Niall’s face is a blanched, sickly colour.

“No. No cages.” Harry looks up, his eyes wide and strained. “He doesn’t cage people, they stay in rooms.”

“Have you seen them?” Louis asks quietly.

“I-- No. But they don’t Louis. You don’t know Simon, ok? He wouldn’t.”

Louis turns to Niall, but the blonde is already nodding in agreement. “And the rest?” He asks.

“It wasn’t—It didn’t start like this.” Harry reaches out and rests his knuckles on Louis’ bicep, and Louis thinks it’s probably a comfort move. Unconscious. “Simon said there were volunteers, they came to live and work there. People who wanted to keep the population going.”

Louis ignores the contact and focuses on Harry’s face. He looks tired and worn, and Louis suddenly wonders how old the man is.

He wants to reassure him somehow, but then as much as Louis understands now why Harry sits back and lets this happen, he hasn’t forgiven him for his own treatment.

Instead, he listens as Harry's continues. “Simon opened five himself, and arranged more around the country. People would come from miles away to join – there was food and shelter and company and they had purpose again.”

It's a promotional spiel. _Where did you get this information Harry. From Simon?_

“It’s only in the last few months that Simon’s started collecting… less willing people.”

_Is that what we’re calling it now?_

Niall has some of the colour back in his face, and Louis takes a second to appreciate how gullible people are, when it’s what they want to hear.

“So that’s not so bad then?” The blonde asks. “They’re mostly volunteers, and they’re comfortable and all that. They just keep trying to have kids. Nothing wrong with that.”

“And the hospitals?” Louis would be disturbed at how quickly the man’s managed to justify Simon’s behaviour to himself, but he’s seen it before. He understands how quickly values change when the modern world is stripped away.

Eight months was how long civilization had lasted since the first reports. Eight months of exponentially increasing panic. He’d seen Britain pledge to help as many people as possible, to accept as many as it could. He’d seen Britain close its borders, shutting out foreigners and locals alike. They’d watched countries flicker out like light bulbs as communication centres went dead, and the promises of assistance had turned from many to few to none.

He’s been chased, threatened, betrayed, beaten and tricked by people who he thought had been friends. So Louis isn’t at all surprised that Niall is so willing to bend his morals to avoid change.

Because Niall’s used to being safe.

And Louis isn’t.

He’d been embarrassingly blinkered, when it came to the spread of the parasite, and he would never forgive himself those three months since it started that he spent in London, still determinedly trying to live his life.

He’d obeyed the rules, as more and more sanctions were put into place. As commercial businesses and government bodies rolled out their emergency protocols one after the other, and it turned out that even universities had zombie apocalypse plans. Louis had enjoyed reading them, at first. Had liked it less when he was no longer allowed to gather in groups of more than three people and had to be in before curfew.

He’d even been one of the first in line when hospitals started doling out medication to anyone who would take it. They’d tried everything. Louis himself had taken everything from Ritalin to Daraprim. At one point he was pretty sure they’d even given him gout medicine.

But by the time they’d realised that science wasn’t going to save them in time it was already chaos.

Disaster management had failed.

So he’d done what everyone else had tried to do – to get to his loved ones. He’d tried to get trains, cars, busses. To hitchhike. He’d made plans with his friends, only to be cut out at the last minute.

In the end he’d had to try on foot, and as numbers continued to dwindle and morals decayed, he’d tried stealing cars.

He’d gotten pretty far actually, before he’d stopped for the wrong person and had his leg broken.

By the time he’d healed enough to make it home there was nothing left. He’d heard about it when his mom had died. His mom and his baby brother and sister, but then his phone had been taken, and when he’d finally found another there was no answer from his old home.

He tried every day, just to be sure. Every day until the lines went dead; even after he’d been there, and seen the desolate, sacked shell of his childhood home. His mom and the twins were gone, but Fizzy, Lottie, Daisy, Phoebe…

He didn’t know.

After that he’d just wondered, trying to stay alive, trying to stay safe, trying to find his sisters. He’d taught himself to hunt, to trap, to survive. He avoided people as much as possible, he wandered further away from civilisation. And then eventually, he found his first compound. He hadn’t even meant to, but he’d been hungry, and cold, and he’d been lured in by the sound of music.

They’d been so kind. So welcoming. So understanding. And finally, Louis had thought that things might be about to get better. So he’d stayed. Cautiously. But he’d stayed.

Until it had all been ripped away again. By a _Farm_.

So for Louis it _is_ different. Because people are monsters, and he already knows that. And safety is a myth told to children. And he knows that too.

The only thing left to do is to run.

“We need to know more.” Harry states, interrupting Louis’ thoughts. “We need to know how bad it is, what’s going on, whether they have dogs that can follow us. How serious their security is.”

Louis keeps his mouth shut. It won’t matter what he says.

He can already see Niall coming around to Harry’s point of view. ‘ _It isn’t so bad. It could be worse. They aren’t hurting people.’_

The blonde is staring fixedly across the desk, and Harry finally looks up and meets his eyes. Louis feels like an impostor, sitting there, sharing this moment. But after a beat they both look away, and Niall sighs.

“You should have told me Harry. You should have.”

Harry nods. “I know. I should have Niall, I’m sorry. It was just… Lux.”

“Lux.” Niall sighs. “I know man, I know. We can’t let Simon have her. The hospitals would get her in no time.”

“You need to leave.” Louis nods, finally there's something he can agree on.

Harry smiles faintly. “Then I guess you get your wish Louis.” Harry’s hand moves off his bicep, and Louis had somehow forgotten that it was there. _Complacent._

It takes him a second before he understands what Harry's saying. “I-- I didn’t want--” His stomach lurches uneasily.

“No mate.” Niall interrupts, and his face is back to its usual smile, as if the past ten minutes never happened. “Harry knows you didn't want this to happen. We both do.”

More silence.

“Will you come with us?” It’s Niall, but Harry is nodding along. “We could really use your help mate. We don’t know how to live out there.”

It’s a lot of responsibility.

“Please Louis?” Harry's voice is questioning, but Louis can see the lines of tension in his body.

I would be a lot of responsibility, but then Louis would at least be free of the Farm.

“You could leave at any time.” Niall this time, trying to talk him in to it.

He frowns at the desk. He would be _needed_  though. And he wouldn’t be alone.

There’s the soft pad of little feet on carpet, and a sudden small voice makes them all jump. “Daddy we’re moving?”

_Shit. She’s been listening._

Harry drops to his knees and smiles gently at her, and his face is so soft, and so open, it makes Louis' chest ache - or maybe that's the cracked ribs. “Maybe sweetie. In a few weeks. Would you like that?”

“Is Lou-e coming?”

They look up at him together; matching sets of big doe eyes. “Maybe Luxie. I hope so.”

She nods and comes closer, and a tiny hand slips into his own.

He thinks maybe there's a hint of something else in Harry's face. Something calculating. 

“Please Lou-e?” _Not fair._ “Pleeeease?” _That’s cheating._

Very slowly, Louis nods.

\--

It’s Niall who gets the task of reconnaissance.

They can’t send the doctor. That much is clear.

Louis is still healing, and couldn’t go alone anyway – Harry says it’s because he doesn’t know the way to the second compound. Louis knows it’s because they wouldn’t trust him to come back.

Harry going is out of the question – he’s supposed to be in charge, and Niall blithely notes that Harry has been spending far too much time in his rooms as it is.

“Anyway, Niall can take the van, and we can’t spare two people. Someone has to watch Lux.” Harry points out firmly, and that’s that.

The next morning, Niall sets out to find out everything they can about the second compound. And Louis settles in to wait.

\--

_Fuck!_

Pots and pans clatter down around Louis. He scrambles desperately backwards, away from the offending cupboard and round the other side of the counter. The sound of heavy boots echoes.

“Hello?” _Ed_. _That was fast._ He hunches down, curling his body as small as it can go. “Shit. Not again.” Ed continues.

Louis takes a few small gasps. His chest hurts again. Well it never really stopped, but it’s worse than it’s been in a while. He shifts, and the metal back of the cupboard buckles against his weight with a loud clang.

 _Damn_.

The sounds of various cooking implements being stacked back into the cupboard stops for a moment, and then resumes.

Louis resists the urge to drop his head back. How the fuck has he gotten himself into this situation? He’s gone from World War Z through to Animal Farm and somehow ended up in Jurassic Park.

Except instead of Velociraptors, he’s now faced with an aggressively cheerful, 5 foot something ginger nightmare.

Oh, and there’s no green jelly.

God he misses jelly. He doesn’t let himself miss much anymore, but crouched in the cold kitchen, hoping desperately not to be discovered, Louis suddenly has to fight the urge to lay down and sob. Because he can deal with being captured and broken and friendless, and he can deal with not speaking to another human for years at a time, and he can even, apparently, deal with losing his whole family and everyone he’s ever cared about. But somehow, the revelation that he will never have jelly again pours through him with cold clarity.

The world ended.

And now there’s no jelly.

Ed finishes his pot stacking and heads out of the kitchen, whistling. Louis waits a few minutes more before he stands, straightening his body painfully.

_So not that cupboard then._

He spins around looking at the rest. He’s already got bread and jam from one of the storage rooms, but Harry had pointed out that there’s some salted mutton in the kitchens themselves, and Louis is determined to find it.

He lifts his rucksack awkwardly off the floor and onto his shoulders, wincing slightly at the weight. It’s the same tatty old thing that he’d brought with him.

He’d been happy to find that Harry had been keeping it for him. He hadn’t been so happy to learn that Harry had been rifling through it.

 _But Louis, it was starting to smell._ Louis snorts. _Whatever._ Throwing away the food wasn’t the issue here. But Harry had thrown away his fucking tin foil. Did the man not understand how hard it was to get tin foil these days? Louis had nearly died for that fucking tin foil!

He scans the kitchen. Maybe he’s not thinking this through properly. Some extremely inappropriate survival instinct had been telling him to seek out a fridge, but that wasn’t right – there were no fridges anymore.

He jogs over to a slim, unassuming door and presses his ear against it for a second. There’s no sound from the other side.

He waits for a beat, and then slowly inches it open, pressing himself flat against the adjacent wall – better cautious than dead. Nothing jumps out. He peers into the small, dark room.

_Yes!_

Joints of meat are strung from hooks on the ceiling. It’s a little gruesome, if he really thinks about it, but Louis has walked along a river filled with decaying human corpses. In fact, that had put him off meat for a good few years, but eventually his survival skills had kicked in. Still – he prefers fish these days.

He picks one of the smaller pieces, tucked in the back where it shouldn’t be missed, and hefts it safely into his bag.

_Job done._

\--

He’s out of the kitchens and halfway down the corridor when he hears the sound of voices. Louis chooses the first door he sees and darts in. _Huh, potatoes._ He would take some, but Harry didn’t exactly have cooking facilities in his little set of rooms.

“…seriously think he’s dying.” It’s Lou, Louis thinks. He’d heard her on the way in as well, talking to someone about wool. It was thrilling.

“Harry said he’s fine.” Nick. Louis recognises that one too.

“He just doesn’t want us to worry. Why else would they be spending so much time together?”

“Well... Maybe they’ve been bonding. Or something. _You know_.”

Louis wishes he could see their faces. There’s the sound of a brief scuffle.

“Ewww!” Lou giggles. “Why would you say that?”

_Oh right._

“Nothing wrong with that. Got something against guys together have you?”

Their conversation is getting fainter as they head down the corridor, and Louis suddenly finds himself doing something incredibly stupid.

He slips quietly out of his room and jogs after them. His heavy bag jerks painfully with each step, pulling at his ribcage, but it’s worth it.

“… and Harry’s so stern all the time. Can you imagine? It’d be all weird and mechanical.”

 _Stern?_ How has she known Harry for all this time and not seen how passionate he is? The man cries at the drop of a hat. He tried to kill Louis! How much more passionate can you get?

“He wasn’t always.”

They’ve gone into the aga room, probably to warm up. Louis flexes his wrists. They’re a little stiff. He’s so used to being uncomfortable that he doesn’t really pay attention any more, but he is a bit cold, now that he thinks about it.

“If you say so. And can you imagine Louis?”

“He’s alright. He’s probably quite hot underneath all the dirt and hair.”

Louis’ mind has gone blank.

“Seriously Nick? He’s barely human! I suppose he’d manage doggy style ok…”

Louis runs.

His stomach is churning, and he thinks he hears a shout from behind him, and he knows he isn’t being cautious like Harry told him to be. Like Harry _trusted_ him to be…

The panic flooding his fight-or-flight response increases. He veers off the main path and ducks behind a small privet hedge, trying to get his breath back. The weight of his bag tumbles him sideways onto the hard earth. It hurts.

_Barely human._

His stomach lurches again. They saw him. Did they see him? He isn’t sure. Harry had trusted him. He’d trusted him not to be seen, and instead of coming back quickly and silently, he’d started sneaking around thinking he was James fucking Bond.

He shakes it off as best he can and pulls himself up. It doesn’t matter. Why should it matter if Harry can trust him?

His throat burns.

There’s no one between him and Harry’s rooms now, so he gets back on his feet and quickly sprints down the path and round to the emergency exit that’s tucked round the back of the building.

Harry is opening the door before he has the chance to knock.

“Louis what’s happened?” There are hands peeling off his rucksack before he has the chance to register that he’s inside.

He shakes his head.

“Louis, talk to me.” Harry's voice is tight.

Oh god. He isn’t going to cry. He doesn't even know what he would be crying about. He hasn’t fucking cried since his family died.

“Louis _please._ ”

And now he’s freaking Harry out.

“It’s ok. I’m ok.” He manages.

“Louis what happened? You’re shaking.” Harry’s running his hands rapidly over him, checking for goodness-knows-what. “And you’re covered in mud. Louis?” His hands speed up, clumsy in their urgency.

Louis lets him search – tries to take some comfort from the repetitive motions and human contact. He’s getting better at that. He concentrates on Harry’s hands – lets his muscles relax one at a time as they run over him, brushing off leaves and twigs whenever he comes across them. There's something warm in the pit of Louis' stomach. Something that's not unpleasant, but it makes Louis nervous. Makes him think that maybe he's spent too much time here.

Harry keeps at it as Louis slowly calms. Down his arms, over his shoulders, down his back-- looking him over, turning him round, looking again. He runs his fingers across Louis’ jaw, over his forehead, down the still painful line of his neck. Less clumsy now, thorough. His face is concentrated, but not harsh. "I can't find anything new." He murmurs, and Louis wonders if he knows he's speaking out loud.

_Anything new._

Louis hasn’t checked if he's got bruising, but he probably has. The memories of being choked resurface and Louis isn’t surprised when they seem like they come from a different life. He’s used to the feeling.

He doesn’t know why he lets Harry’s ministrations go on for so long, but it pushes the panic back, lets him relax. For some reason the need to cry has only grown stronger, but with a monumental effort he pushes that back as well.

He swallows painfully. “I’m ok. I’m not hurt.”

“Not where I can see.” Harry mutters into the space between them.

It’s too much. The room’s too quiet, Harry’s too close, it’s too intimate. Too dangerous. “Not where you can't either.” Louis takes a step back, breaking the moment.

“OK.” Harry smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and Louis is back to feeling like he doesn’t understand faces again.

_Barely human._

“Can I see?”

Louis frowns in confusion, and Harry picks up the rucksack in one hand and lifts it easily.

Louis nods.

Harry picks through it all carefully, smiling a little brighter and making small approving comments. “Nice haul Lou.”

 _Lou._ The nickname makes his stomach flip. 

 _Shit_. What’s happening here? They’re chipping away at him, piece by piece. When had it become more important to please these people – to please Harry, than to escape? He’d just been out on his own for fucks sake! And it hadn’t even occurred to him to make a run for it!

“I mean, not that I thought you’d have any problems—did you have any problems? I was just worried that— no, I knew you would—Shit I’m babbling.” Harry shuts his eyes for a second. “You went out by yourself and got this and you came back. Thank you.”

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

Louis lets his eyes meet Harry’s big, green, sincere stare. He has to put a stop to this.

“Someone saw me.” His stomach twists.

Harry doesn't even hesitate. “That’s ok Lou. It’s not a secret that you’re here.”

He shakes his head. _That's not the point._ “It was my fault. I followed Nick and Lou.”

Harry huffs out a breath and shrugs, and Louis can’t stand to stare at that frowning face any longer. He misses cold indifferent Harry. Forgiving dad Harry is going to get him killed.

His chest aches, and he isn't actually sure whether it's Harry or his injury causing it. _And doesn't that say it all._  “I--”

“Lou-lou! Lou-ee!!” The call comes down the corridor, followed by a small blonde blur that throws itself at his legs. And there his chest goes again, so maybe it had been Harry after all. Louis wishes he had the strength to swing her up onto his hip.

He grins at her instead, as Harry pulls her up into his own arms.

“Luxie, Lou brought us dinner.” Harry’s eyes are so fond, it makes Louis’ throat tight.

“Daddy Lou-ee said I make his hair for dinner.”

“You want to eat Louis hair for dinner?” Harry twists his face in a way that Louis would never quite have expected possible.

“No you silly!” She squeals in delight. “I make Lou-ee hair like mine!”

“Oh! You’re going to make his hair blonde?”

“Daddy no!” She slaps her tiny hands against his broad chest and turns to whisper conspiratorially to Louis. “It’s ok Lou-ee. Daddy’s silly. Only Niall can make hair blonde.”

“Oh really?” Louis was actually pretty sure that it was Lou who had managed to produce a formula to dye Niall’s hair. But then Lux didn’t know Lou.

“Yes.” She nods, seriously. “He made mine blonde.”

“Wow.”

“Hey Lux, how about you go wash your hands so we can have dinner?” Harry jumps in before the conversation can go much further, but Louis suspects that it isn’t going to stop her from whatever she’s plotting with his hair.

Pigtails probably. It’s certainly long enough right now. Hopefully before they make a run for it Lou might agree to cut it for him, and he’s still desperate to try out the showers that he’s seen Harry sneaking Lux out to at night.

He puts her down and she runs off obediently, and when he turns back his face has lost some of it's fondness, bit it's still warmer than Louis has seen it aimed at himself before. “Are you sure you’re ok Lou?”

Louis sighs. Maybe the truth might actually be the best thing for once. Or part of it at least – the part Louis understands. “I was out by myself and I didn’t run.”

Harry nods, his eyes hardening. “You didn’t. And I’m grateful.”

“I should have run.”

“No. You shouldn’t. Please Lou – you’ve trusted me this far.”

_I had no choice._

“It’s not safe here.” Louis looks at Harry’s creased forehead and amends his statement. “Not for me anyway.”

Harry hangs his head. “Simon’s not safe. Not for you.” He takes a breath, and seems to rally, and when he looks up there’s determination in his eyes. “But Louis, it’s different now. We need each other. We’re going to help you.”

_You’re going to get me killed._

But maybe it’s worth it. _Better to die for something than live for nothing._ The quote comes unbidden from one of the locked vaults in his head. He’s never going to be a hero, but he’s missed being useful.

“Niall should be back this evening. It’s going to be OK Louis.”

Louis snorts. _No._ _You’re going to get me killed. But maybe it’ll be worth it._

\--

Niall doesn’t come back.

For the first night, Harry tells him not to worry. The second compound is 30 miles away – only about an hour in their van, but Niall wouldn’t want to waste electricity by coming back and forth.

“I should have let you go with him.” Harry mutters, and Louis suspects that he wasn’t supposed to hear it.

By the second night, Harry reassures him that he probably just ran out of electricity, and Louis points out that walking 30 miles would take at least a day, even for a fit person.

 _He should be back by now._ Louis thinks.

After the third, both Harry and Louis are pale faced and twitchy.

“We need help.” Harry says.

\--

“Have fun Liam. Back in a bit.”

Liam bounds happily into the room and Louis watches cautiously as Harry slips out, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Louis man! I’m so glad that you’re better! I’ve been asking Harry to see you for days!” He looks around the room curiously. “Harry doesn’t usually let people in here. He’s a bit shy. Lauren was the same.”

The bigger man leans forwards so he can whisper. “I think it’s the pressures of leadership.”

Louis holds back a snort. Oddly enough, he’s sort of missed Liam. He gets the sudden urge to mess with him. “Or maybe they both had some huge secret?” He’s going to enjoy this.

Liam grins. “You think they have a secret pet? Or no--! They were having a secret affair! Oh my god a secret baby!”

_Well fuck._

Louis feels suddenly ashamed of himself for not guessing sooner.

“That would be amazing. Imagine Harry as a dad.”

“Harry would make a great dad.” Louis doesn’t know why he’s defending the man, but he couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d tried.

“He would.” Liam nods seriously. “It’d be flower crowns and fancy plats all the way. You know he had Lou teach him how to braid once?”

Louis thinks back to the piles of flower petals and twine he’d seen in Lux’s rooms. To the neat French plat she was currently sporting. _Well that explains that._

“You don’t think he’d be strict?” Louis says instead. Lou and Nick’s conversation still fresh in his mind even after three days.

“Harry? I suppose he’s gotten a bit uptight since he took over from Lauren. You should have seen him before though, he was a right scallion.”

Louis doesn’t know what a scallion is, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“Anyway, it makes no difference. I’m pretty sure Harry plays for another team if you get me.” Liam elbows him gently. “Not that he gets around much anymore.”

“Right.” Louis had guessed as much. “Actually, Harry wants to talk to you about something.”

“Oh?”

Louis nods. “He should be back in a minute for lunch.”

The door to Lux’s room moves slightly. She’d promised, faithfully, that she wouldn’t come out until Harry went in to get her. But then, she’s only three…

Liam looks around the room again. “So this is where our fearless leader sleeps?”

Louis nods. “I think the bed is usually over there though.” He points over to the sofa that’s pushed up against one wall. He’s been thinking about it. Probably a bit too much actually, but then what else is there to do?

“Makes sense.” Liam nods. “And the sofa goes in the middle?”

Louis nods. The door moves again. Liam doesn’t notice.

_You would die in the wild._

“Can I see the rest?”

Louis gives him a brief tour.

The office – “Hey, I never knew there was another door in here! Sneaky!”

The bathroom – “Harry put up the water tanks himself, I remember when he did it. We were so afraid he would fall.”

He stops in front of Lux’s room and speaks very slowly, trusting that the tiny crack she’s made is enough to hear through with her sharp ears. “We can’t go in here yet. Harry’s going to show you himself. Actually that’s probably him now.”

Louis points to the shadow across the netted curtains that cover the front window.

The sound of a key in the door is right on que, and Louis breathes out a relieved sigh. The surprise on Liam’s face almost makes him laugh.

_You didn’t even notice you were locked in, did you?_

_You would_ absolutely _die in the wild._

Harry darts in quickly, locking the door behind him. Louis is used to the habit by now.

“Hazza! Nica flat mate!”

Harry nods. “Thanks Liam.”

“How do you keep it so warm?”

Harry freezes, his face abruptly shutting down into the cold, impartial mask that Louis really hasn’t been missing.

“The doors are all locked and insulated,” Louis jumps in, unsettled by the change “and he keeps the curtains shut.”

“Oh! That makes sense. I always wondered why you kept them shut.”

_Worked though._

Harry twitches once and nods. His stillness is impressive really – it had Louis fooled for weeks, but Louis hadn’t really known the man then. He still didn’t, if he was honest, but anyone who’d seen him and Lux together would immediately see the difference. It seems that Zayn hadn’t been very charitable when he’d said Harry couldn’t lie – he had far too many secrets to be bad at it after all – he just couldn’t lie to Simon.

The temperature was a bit of a tricky situation.

Louis hadn’t even thought about it until he’d been allowed outside for the first time and realized just how cold it still was. Apparently a water tank wasn’t the only think Harry fitted when he insisted on doing it himself. There was a secret solar panel up there, and solar panels were hard to come by these days.

“So Louis tells me you wanted to talk about something mate?” Liam turns happily to Harry.

“Oh. Right.”

The blank façade is making Louis uncomfortable, and he hadn't realized just how different Harry's become until it's back. He pushes things along. “Liam, you should sit down. Harry has a lot to tell you.”

_Come back Harry._

Liam starts moving towards the sofa, and Louis only registers the movement of a door a split second before it’s flung fully open, and Lux darts out.

For a second, Louis thinks that Liam might not even notice.

“Daddy!”

Only for a second though.

She leaps up at Harry, who catches her obediently and draws her as close as possible. His body language is defensive, and his face is empty.

It’s up to Louis then. “Liam, this is Lux. She’s Harry’s son.”

Liam is staring like a startled puppy, and Louis is expecting it to be a while before he says anything... “But I thought you were gay.” He’s wrong.

_That’s what you got from this?_

Louis will never understand what goes on in Liam’s mind. Still, Harry’s clutching at Lux, with dark, hard eyes, and Lux has frozen herself on seeing Liam so...

“Lauren was her mother. We don’t know who her biological father was. He came from the second compound.”

“But… How could we not know?” He reaches forwards, and Harry jerks back. The movement seems to shock him into action, and he shakes his head a few times, his curly hair bouncing from side to side. As he looks back up, Louis catches the cold slowly fading, and all at once Harry’s back.

Louis’ lets his body relax a little.

“Shit. Sorry Liam. I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.” Harry moves forwards, a gentle smile cautiously warming his eyes. “She’s been a secret for so long.”

Louis let’s his body unclench, and takes a step closer to father and daughter. “Harry.” He nods at the shaking little girl.

Harry looks down in surprise. “What…? Oh Luxie, it’s all right.” He nuzzles into her hair and cuddles her in close. “Shh, it’s ok Lux. This is Liam. You remember me talking about Liam? You were so excited to meet him.”

The trembling seems to have stopped, but she tucks her head into Harry’s neck, hiding her face under a curtain of hair.

“She’s not met so many people.” Harry grins a weakly at Liam. “We should probably go sit in her room; it’s more comfortable.”

The four of them sit around the coffee table. It seems smaller than Louis remembers. He glances over at the guitar resting against the far wall. _Niall’s fine. He’s strong._ This time Louis joins them.

It takes a lot less time than Louis expects to get Liam up to speed, and he’s once again struck by how easily people are willing to believe the best of a terrible situation.

“So Simon wants Lux?”

“He’s coming to take her away.” Says Harry. The, girl in question is sleeping quietly, still tucked in to the crook of his neck.

“But why?”

“He’s always wanted her. He suggests taking her a lot.” Harry tilts his head. “I don’t know why, he never asks to spend any time with her. He just checks she’s still ok every few months.”

“Maybe he just really wants his own baby?”

Harry only hums. 

_You’re still living by old world rules. Survival is about power._

“Or maybe,” Louis interjects quietly, “he needs leverage.”

“Leverage.” Liam parrots. "For what?"

Louis shrugs. _How are you still so_ _naive?_  "Supplies."

"Oh," Liam frowns, “so that Harry keeps sending them food for this-- this farm thingy?”

Louis nods.

“Or so that he can give her to a hospital in exchange for something?”

 _Oh no._ Louis’ entire body goes cold in an icy wash. _No._

They hadn’t even considered that.

“Harry.” He whispers, his eyes fixed on the sleeping girl. “Harry we need to leave.”

"What?" Liam is looking from Louis to Harry and back, and they're both wide eyed and pale. “I’m sorry guys. I shouldn’t have suggested it.”

“No.” Harry’s voice is urgent. “No Liam, we need to think about these things. We can’t miss anything.”

“Ok then. So let me get this sorted in my head. Simon wants Lux.”

Harry nods, and Louis tried to pull himself up through the nauseating fear that's gripped him. He needs to be useful.

“Lux is Lauren’s kid," Liam continues, "and they came here together and you’ve been hiding her in your rooms for like three years?”

“Nearly four.”

“Jesus. Ok. That’s dedication.”

“It’s her life Liam.” Harry snaps.

“No. Yeah, of course, of course. Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t thinking. So Simon let you keep her in exchange for you supplying him food and equipment and stuff.” He pushes on quickly.

“Yes.”

“And so he could keep taking people away?”

“I don’t—what? No. No, not like that. I don’t think so. They wanted to leave.” Harry’s eyes are wide. _Something else you never thought of._

“And did they know what they were going to?”

“I-- No.” Harry whispers.

Louis feels sick, and he’s not sure if it’s _for_ Harry or _because of_ Harry. But then… Lux. What if it’d been one of his sisters? What would he of done?

“Ok.” Liam sighs heavily, but he’s still taking it. _He’s already accepted this nightmare. Rationalized it. Just like Niall._ “So Simon’s decided to take her away.”

Harry returns to his blank nodding, presumably with new horrors now running through his head.

“But why now?”

“Me.” Louis whispers. “Harry was going to help me escape.” _It was my fault. All I ever wanted was to be left alone._

“I know you said that but I don’t get it. It doesn’t make sense.”

Louis and Harry both look at him in confusion.

“It doesn’t?” Asks Harry.

Liam shakes his head. “You were already giving him Louis. He was getting his wish.”

“Unless he thinks I’m going to run away again.”

Liam’s whole face scrunches up. “Wait, again?”

“Or someone told him that I tried to let you escape.” Harry presses on, ignoring Liam’s confused expression.

Louis frowns. “You told him.”

“No.” Harry shakes his head. “Not that time, the one before.”

 _What?_ “What?”

“No stop. This isn’t the point.” Liam shakes his head. “We can sort all this out later. There’s more you aren’t telling me.”

Harry tried to let him escape? _When??_

“There is.” Harry gives Louis a searching look, and Louis isn’t sure what he finds but Harry nods and continues, “we decided we needed our own leverage. Niall went to investigate Simon’s compound. He didn’t come back.”

“Shit. You said he was camping – looking for Louis’ friend.”

Louis shakes his head. “I don’t have any friends.”

Harry’s big green eyes are sad when they turn to him. Louis fidgets uncomfortably. His chest is still hurting. “We made that up.” He says to break the silence.

Lux snuffles in her sleep and the three of them turn to look at her.

“So Niall’s been missing for three days?” It’s Liam who speaks.

Harry and Louis nod together.

“Ok.” Liam sighs. “Then we’d better go find him.”

“Liam?” The man looks up with his soft brown eyes, and Harry starts to reach out before wrapping his arm back tightly around Lux. “Please don’t tell anyone?”

The two of them stare at each other across the coffee table, and Louis suddenly feels like he did with Niall: like he’s invading the moment. He shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t really know these people. But just like before the tension breaks and Liam nods. “Not a soul.” He looks over at Louis. “But I don’t think I should go alone.”

\--

Escape is easier than Louis thought it would be. They leave the very next morning.

He and Harry slip from his rooms before the sun rises, leaving Lux in the care of Reem. He’s got more bread and jam in his rucksack, as well as some of Harry’s clothes and most of his own possessions.

Once they reach the road, the two of them slip into the trees to wait for Liam.

Louis leans himself against the thin trunk of a pine tree, settling comfortably into his old, over-large coat. He feels more like himself than he has in weeks.

“Liam’s getting quite the send-off.” Harry breaks the peace of the forest.

Louis frowns. “I’m surprised more people didn’t want to go with him.”

“They did. I promised that Liam would go scout first and if he couldn’t find Niall then others could go too. Greg said he wished we had search dogs.”

Louis tenses up for a second, before he realizes that  _Harry's teasing him_. Harry's _actually_ teasing him. 

“Shut up.” The sides of Louis’ mouth quirk up slowly.

Harry smiles faintly back and it lights up his eyes, and Louis guesses he’s always had a face for smiling, he just hasn’t seen it before. Not properly. The taller man brushes his knuckles against Louis’ arm. It’s a familiar gesture.

“He was helping me, you know. He quite likes you.”

Wait, what? Louis takes a second to remember that they were talking about.  _Greg._

Greg likes him? That doesn’t make sense. “Helping you?”

“We tried to set you free.” Louis opens his mouth to point out that he knows this, but Harry holds up his hand, suddenly looking serious. “No. It was before you asked us to.”

“I—What?”

“It was when you were with Nick, I think? Greg didn’t take his watch. He was going to pretend he’d lost you in the dark.”

Louis thinks back. It seems like forever ago, but he remembers something… he remembers trying to get a look into Harry’s rooms when Nick was in the barn. He remembers uneasy sleuthing and far too much adrenaline. He remembers waiting for Liam to jump out from every shadow.

“Me and Lux were there though. We hid in the bushes. She thought it was great.” Harry has the gentlest smile on his face. Louis’ chest hurts.

“I heard her.” He realizes suddenly. “I thought it came from her room.”

The smile grows and Harry shrugs. “Like I said. She had a great time.”

“You tried to let me go.” Louis can’t get his head around it. Can’t understand the missed opportunities. Can’t process the twisted feeling in his stomach because somehow it feels like _relief._

“I did.” Harry stares at the leaf-mulch floor. “And the day you asked me to help you escape – I was trying to let you go then too. That’s why I wanted to speak to you. I’m not ok with this Louis, I can’t stand the things that Simon’s doing and I could never condemn someone to it. I was going to tell you to run. I was getting desperate – but you gave me a better plan. And then I told Simon about it and you nearly died.” It comes out all in a rush, and Louis wonders how long he’s been waiting to apologise. “You nearly died… I’m so sorry.”

“You tried to let me go.” Louis repeats, stuck in his own loop.

There’s a noise from the road, and it sounds like footfalls.

Harry nods his head and sighs. “And I’m letting you go now.” The hand leaves his arm and he steps back.

“Guys!” It’s Liam, whisper-shouting. _Someone needs to tell him that he’s not subtle._ Louis thinks, but it’s quickly lost in all the other thoughts storming around his head.

_Harry tried to let me go. He wanted to let me go._

“Guys?” Liam shouts a little louder, and Louis shakes himself off, pushing away from the tree. Those thoughts will have to wait. It’s his fault that Niall’s lost. They have to find him.

“Louis?” He turns back, and Harry’s face is open, vulnerable. “Please come back.”

 


	11. I walk a lonely road

If he were honest, Louis had expected more trees.

That’s the thought that sticks with him, over the course of the first hour.

There really should be more trees.

The paved streets and empty houses are eerie and silent, reminding him of why he usually avoids built-up areas. He directs a growl at whoever built this death-trap as he trips on the cracked pavement. The road builders of the past had been bloody short sighted not to have accounted for the possibility of an apocalypse. Bad planning that.

“Louis, I think you need to stop for a bit.”

He scowls over at his traveling companion. This is going to be over quickly if he doesn’t find some way of placating Liam. Not because the man would make him stop – though Liam certainly would – but because Louis is _actually_ going to kill him.

He trips again. _Unless the pavement kills me first._

“Where are we?” He grits out. Distraction is a tactic that’s worked before. Liam, he’s noted, is basically a goldfish. Distract him for long enough and the previous topic is lost forever.

Liam frowns and stops, gently lifting out a ratty A-Z, and Louis would never say it, but he’s glad for the reprieve. He studies the front of the map cautiously – _Sussex_ –he’d not meant to end up so far south. After he found his family home in Doncaster empty, he’d spent several months traveling back to London to see if his sisters had tried to find him in his old flat. They hadn’t.

And then after that, he’d moved around a lot, right until the petrol stations were dry and all the abandoned cars tapped. His last compound had been in Langstone, Newport, and then after that he’d been wandering vaguely back towards London before the need for easy food had sent him towards the sea.

Or maybe it’d been some other need. Some bizarre, self-destructive pilgrimage to say goodbye to life as he’d known it – to wave at where the bodies had ended up.

Liam flicks through the map with practiced ease, and Louis takes the opportunity to shake himself out of his melancholy. When had he gotten so bloody gloomy? His chest aches, that’s the problem. And his feet hurt, and his legs, and basically every other part of his body. He knew that that compound was making him soft.

“Do you know the way?” He asks, trying to distract himself from—well, from _himself._ Moping isn’t a good look on him, and anyway, for the first time in weeks he’s actually free. His spirits lift a little at the thought.

Liam nods and smiles over at him. “I go on the delivery runs with Niall every other week or so. Just looks a bit different on foot.”

“Good.” Louis shuffles over, crowding into Liam’s space to look over the map. The closeness sends a wave of adrenaline straight to his feet, but he forces himself to be still. _At least that reflex is still working._

Apparently they’re in a town called Fontwell.It doesn’t mean anything to him, but it’s still good to know. He leans in closer, reaching out to turn a page, but he’s startled back when Liam jumps. Louis takes another cautious step away, and when he checks Liam’s face, the man is flushed, and staring far too intently at the map.

 _Well that’s weird._ Louis frowns. Liam didn’t seem to have any issues with contact before. Had Louis done something? He’d barely touched the man. Louis takes a surreptitious sniff under each armpit. His clothes had been washed again before he’d set and they seemed to be holding up. Or was it—did Liam think Louis was trying to hit on him? As absurd as it sounds, it’s the only thing Louis can think of.

Maybe Louis had done something? It hits him suddenly that he really _doesn’t_ know how to act around people anymore. Had he been too close to Liam all this time? Had he been staring too much? Was he making too much eye contact or too little? Shit, was he one of those creepy people who didn’t understand boundaries? _Oh my god I’m one of those creepy people._

The loud creek of a door jolts Louis out of his spiral, reminding him that he’s out in the open, and it’s not safe to let his guard down. He shakes himself off, and now he has to wonder if _that_ looks weird too. _Thanks Liam._

Anyway, there’re more important things to worry about. He spins slowly, surveying the area. Here and there the picked remains of scavenged cars sit on the road – the A27, Louis notes absently from a remarkably well-preserved sign.

“We should look for bikes.” He offers, because Liam has been too quiet for too long, and it’s unnatural. _Bikes, yes._ It’s actually a good idea. They might not go as fast as cars, but bikes were a godsend in this world. Bikes lasted for _ages_.

Louis isn’t actually especially hopeful – the compound doesn’t even have bikes (which he finds extremely suspicious and suspects is Simon’s doing), and probably anything useful this close to home would have been taken already. But Louis has learned the hard way to never ignore a potential resource

 _Anyway, there must be more bikes than people left at this point._ _Unless they’re all being horded in farm-town. Maybe they’ve got them rigged up to generators. They could keep them in the cages like hamster wheels._

He shakes off the thought. Louis’ thought process worries even him at times, and he _knows_ it worries Liam, who keeps giving him a mixture of concerned, and what might be apprehensive glances.

“Can you ride?” Liam scrunches up his big dopey face.

 _Rude._ Louis gives him the look he deserves. He’d been practicing – once he’d gotten up the courage to face the skinny, hairy, sunken ghost in Harry’s bathroom mirror. Expressions were coming back to him.

“No, I mean obviously you can ride. How else would you get around…” Liam looks embarrassed. _Good._ “I just meant like… right now?”

It’s a stupid enough question that it takes Louis a few moments to puzzle out. When he does, he looks down at his baggy trousers and tattered boots, and wonders what Liam sees. “I can walk. Of course I can ride.”

It’s not strictly true though. Louis had been walking when he was captured – his trusty bike too hard to balance in the state that he’d gotten into, but presumably he’s well enough by now? His heart feels strong and even.is Strong enough to try, anyway.

“You really think you can ride right now?”

 _Rude again._ Louis can be rude too. “I don’t know Liam. Loose the jeans and lie down and we’ll find out.”

It’s not his greatest line, but the look of panic on Liam’s face makes it all worthwhile.

“I—it’s not… What? Why?”

 _Why? Seriously? Who the hell asks why?_ The image of blushing, fidgeting Liam comes back to him.

He frowns at the floor. Louis used to be the master of teasing – a gift to innuendo. He could tangle pretty boys up in knots with a few sultry blinks and a wiggle of his arse. He misses it. He misses normal interaction. He misses flirting. He _still_ misses green fucking jelly.

It’s a mix of curiosity, and survival instinct – he tells himself – that makes him push things. Because _surely_ Liam doesn’t actually think Louis was trying it on. Not out here in this world. And more importantly, not like _that._ It may have been a while, but Louis likes to think that if he were hitting Liam, it would be a little more tasteful.

He waits for a few seconds to build the drama, and then, drawing on his almost-complete bachelor’s degree in performing arts, he bites his lip and glances up nervously. “I’m sorry Liam – really… I shouldn’t have said it like that. It’s just. It’s been so long and I just want to remember how to feel… anything.” He sighs tiredly, trying to make his body look small and shy, and glances up through his eyelashes, playing to Liam’s relentless need to nurture. “I just want to remember how to be human.”

Liam’s eyes widen, and Louis looks down at the floor, because he’s actually starting to enjoy himself, if the weird clenching of his chest can be believed. And he apparently hasn’t lost his touch either, which is pretty fucking awesome. Well, or Liam’s just impossibly oblivious.

“You mean—Are you serious? I mean-- I’m... flattered. I really like you Louis but--”

“Please Liam? You’re the only one I trust.” Louis keeps his voice quiet, pleading and shuffles his feet.

“It’s just, I…”

Louis’ mouth twitches up. He feels gleeful in a way that he hasn’t in literally years.

“I--”

He lifts his head and looks Liam over. It worked. It fucking worked. And Liam doesn’t seem to want to kill him _or_ sleep with him, which is a bit of a relief if he’s honest.

His mouth twitches again.

“I-- Louis, fuck!” Liam barks out a startled laugh and beams, shoving him gently, and Louis really doesn’t understand this man, but now Louis is smiling too, and his face feels stretched and weird. “Oh my god you’re joking. Jesus you had me going. Well played mate. Jesus, Harry would have killed me!”

The small victory dance in Louis’ head stops suddenly. _Wait. Hold on. What?_ What the hell does tall-dark-and-curly have to do with this conversation?

“Harry?” He asks slowly, smile fading.

“I know!”

“No, but Harry?” Suddenly it’s very important that he knows what on earth Liam is taking about.

“Oh my god.” Liam shakes his head, apparently ignoring the question. “You’re a great actor Louis. That was brilliant.”

Wait no, no, backtrack. Louis needs to know why Harry would be mad.

“But--”

“Ok.” Liam shakes his head again, interrupting him. “Let’s go look for bikes then.”

“No But--”

“Come on Louis!”

Liam turns quickly and jogs away, and Louis tries to shout after him, but his voice really isn’t up to speed.

_And now it’s too late to ask. Dammit Liam._

His smile drops as he diligently starts after the energetic man. He’s still exhausted, and more than a little injured, but his feet are somehow lighter.  

\--

They don’t find any bikes. And after a frustrating hour of Louis directing Liam to search garages, sheds and alleyways, Liam navigates them back to the main road.

We should have brought horses, Louis wants to say, but it would have looked suspicious for Liam to take two, and he’s not actually sure that he could control a horse with his chest the way it is.

Liam can presumably ride though. Louis assumes they all can by now. He has a sudden image of Harry galloping towards him in a billowy white shirt, hair whipping back in the wind... _Stop it brain._  

“Maybe the next town?” Liam interrupts his, quite frankly, disturbing thought process.

“Maybe.” Louis nods. His body has picked up a faint tremble, and the lightness in his feet seems to have been replaced with lead weights. He trips. Oh, and the road builders are continuing to fail him.

It’s almost silent as the two traipse slowly on; just the sounds of leaves rustling and the occasional bird waking up for spring. They stop for an early lunch of bread and broccoli, which is a little weird but Louis isn’t complaining, and after that, Liam insists on carrying both litre bottles of water that they’d taken from the compound. It makes sense, really, but Louis still feels a bit uneasy handing over his supplies.

Still, Liam chatters cheerfully about the compound and their plans for the summer, and Louis divides his time between listening, cursing the crumbling pavement (and all living relatives of those who built it), and focusing on moving his body forwards. He’s growing tired more quickly now, and Liam’s unsubtle stares are getting longer.

He stumbles for the third time in quick succession – Liam’s arm darting out to grab him – when he suddenly snaps, brushing off the hand and pulling himself up straight.The sudden stop sets his heart beating faster, and his head swims with it.

“Liam, we need to talk.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” Liam grins, presumably relieved that Louis is talking again.

“Yes Liam. I am.” Louis grits out.

“I can’t actually tell when you’re joking you know. Did you know your tone is exactly the same as when you’re being serious?”

_Huh._

Louis ignores the comment as best he can to focus on what’s important. “Liam, you need to stop worrying about me. I’m not about to die.”

Liam shuffles his feet with a frown on his face. If Louis had to guess – which he does – he’d say that the man looks a little guilty.

“I know, I know. It’s just, Harry…”

Harry again. Always Harry. Even when he’s not here it’s Harry, Harry, Harry. A month ago (and had it really been that long?) Louis would have said that Harry wanted him alive because he still had use for him. A week ago even. Now, Louis isn’t sure if it’s because he’s needed, or if it’s just a product of the man’s apparent compulsion to protect everyone he feels responsible for.

 _‘I feel so useless.’_ He remembers Harry whispering desperately, when he thought Louis was too injured to hear.

“No.” Liam sighs. “That’s not true. _I’m_ worried. It’s not just Harry. I don’t want anything to happen to you Louis.”

“So you’re just going to stare at me?” His heart has slowed down again. _Good._

“I--” Liam looks around. They’ve walked through a few villages to get here, and now the surrounding area is just fields, fields and more fields. All of them overgrown, with nature creeping back over the once neat squares. It’s quite pretty, Louis supposes, in a wild sort of way. He’d take the treacherous pavement though, if anyone asked.

Liam looks back at him and sighs. “That’s not fair Louis. You had a broken rib for three days without telling anyone, you can’t blame me for worrying.”

Louis frowns. It’s strange having someone worry over his health after all this time. It makes his stomach sort of ache. Or maybe that’s just the combination of bread and broccoli. “You couldn’t have done anything anyway.”

“I could have not pushed you of the bloody roof!”

Louis nods. _Very true._ “Well I did ask you not too.”

There’s a pause, and Louis isn’t sure whether Liam is about to get mad or apologetic, so he waits, braced to run if he needs to, but not really expecting it.

“You’re right.” Liam deflates, and Louis relaxes with him. Apologetic it is then, he was right. “I’m sorry Louis, I thought you’d enjoy it when you realised it was safe, and… I wanted you to trust me.”

“Not the best way to gain my trust.”

“Yeah I get that now.” Liam smiles and wraps his arms around himself. _Nervous,_ Louis thinks. “You’re not the only person who’s not used to strangers Louis. You’re the first new person we’ve had in at least a year.”

It’s hard sometimes, for Louis to remember that everyone else is struggling just like him. He’d been on his own for so long that other people just because a sort of – abstract concept. Like they were a faceless establishment to be fought against. His capture hadn’t exactly helped the image.

“Ok.” He says.

“I really am sorry Louis. I won’t do it again.”

Louis nods. “I believe you.”

And he actually does, which is _weird._ Liam’s apology won’t stop him doing what he thinks is best for Louis, but Louis suddenly finds that he does trust the man to do what he thinks is best. And apparently, that now includes looking after Louis.

His chest clenches with the revelation. It’s a strange thought to get used to.

He nods again and turns away, focusing back on the road, trying to force the echoes of their conversation to fade from his head.

“Rain’s coming.” Liam’s frowning still, but his expression is less tense than before, less strained.

“Yeah.” And Liam will never know how grateful Louis is for the interruption. “We need somewhere to stay.”

“We do.” Liam nods, and smiles gently. “How about you stay here with the stuff and I run ahead and look for shelter.”

Louis stares at him for a moment, takes in the big brown eyes and earnest expression and he really does _believe_ him. _He’ll come back._ “Ok.” He nods.

“Ok?”

“Ok.”

Liam smiles. “Good. Stay here Louis. I’m coming right back.”

\--

The clouds have thickened and the air smells like rain and Louis can’t see three meters in front of himself. “Liam.” He calls, but his voice doesn’t carry far through the shadows.

He forces his legs to keep moving, one after the other, dragging the bags behind him. The hedge beside him is his only guide without any moonlight.

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks.

_Keep moving. Liam’s coming back._

Louis lets the adrenaline carry him, each bark sending him stumbling, each shadow pushing him forwards.

The dogs have kept their distance so far, their fear of humans now instinctual. _Has it really only been five years?_

“Liam.” He calls again, weaker this time.

His body had stopped feeling the cold some time ago. Or rather, it was a different type of cold. Something insidious, and all-consuming. His bones were cold, or something.

There’s still no sound from Liam, and as Louis takes his next step, his knees buckle, and he crumples roughly to the ground. _Well that’s that then._ He’s going to die here, sitting cross-legged on a sub-par pavement.

 _Shit._ He needs shelter. He can smell the rain on the air, and in the dark, and the silence, it’s making him _thirsty_. _Shit._ How long since he’s drank anything? It can’t have been long. How long since Liam left? Louis’ mouth is suddenly parched, and adrenaline washes through him. It’s hot this time, hot enough to scald. Oh god he needs water. Fuck no. Why does he need water?

He flinches as the first raindrop hits.

_I don’t want to drown._

“Louis!”

 _Liam!_ He tries to rise, but his legs aren’t walking, and he’s so cold, and the rain is gathering pace. “Liam.” It’s weak at best; and now he’s in fucking Titanic, lying in the freezing water and crying out for rescue. _At least Rose got a whistle._ Where the hell was his whistle? Why hadn’t they thought to bring fucking whistles!?

“Liam.” A little stronger this time.

There’s a growl.

A fucking growl, and Louis is trembling all over and still so thirsty, and now he’s about to be eaten by dogs. _Fuck._

 _Harry’ll be sad._ The thought comes unbidden, and unwanted, and another growl sends it fleeing.

“Liam!” He screams, as a dark shape looms, and in the dark he thinks he can see the outline of sharp, yellow teeth and blood-red eyes. He presses himself back into the hedge. This is why he always stayed in the woods. This is why he stayed on his own. He should never have been out in the open after dark, not when he was weak. He should never have trusted Liam.

He’s going to die. He’s going to be eaten. The shape comes closer… It’s huge, Louis can hear its heavy paws dragging on the ground.

He gathers all the strength he has left and curls his fists, crouching into position. Ready to fight. Ready for whatever happens next. _How about we go together then?_ He picks up a chunk of crumbling tarmac. _Just you, me, and this bloody road._

With another advance, the shape coalesces out of the dark and Louis lunges… right into the arms of Liam.

_Holy fuck._

He pushes himself back hurriedly, dropping his weapon and looking up into worried, golden-retriever eyes of Liam. _Fucking Liam._

The rain washes icy paths down his back and Louis suddenly finds he’s not so thirsty anymore.

“Louis? Louis! Thank god, I’ve been looking for you for hours!” He runs his big hands over Louis’ shoulders and down his arms, rubbing them roughly. “Are you ok? I’ve found a house. Come on – I’ve even lit a fire, it’s going to be ok. It’s not far.”

 _Eugh._ Louis’ heart is threatening to finish him off, but the feeling has come back slightly in his arms so he tries to stand. It doesn’t work. His legs fold treacherously beneath him, and he’s only saved by Liam’s big arms catching him around the waist.

“Are you ok Louis?” Louis can barely hear him over the sound of his head rushing.

“Liam.” He manages. The rain’s falling more heavily now, getting into his eyes, dripping into his mouth.

“Yeah. It’s me. It’s me. I’m sorry Louis, I couldn’t find you in the dark.”

Louis shudders. “Liam…” He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t move on his own, but he’s not sure he can ask either.

He doesn’t have to though.

“Louis? Do you think-- How about that ride now yeah?” Liam’s grin is weak, but it hits Louis like punch to the gut.

Louis nods, and gives his best impression of a smile. “Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Ok.”

\--

Louis clings on as best he can, but injury has sapped the strength from his arms, and his chest bangs against Liam’s back as he walks. He’s a shaking mess when they finally reach the house, but Liam puts him down gently, and there’s a warm rug, and a sofa and a _fire_.

Jesus, he’s going to owe Liam for this. Maybe he can find Liam something shiny? He looks like the sort to enjoy shiny things. So does Harry, for that matter. Maybe he should go scouting and get them some presents for taking such very good care of him.

His throat aches suddenly with the reminder of hands wrapped around it. _Maybe not._

The two of them sit in silence for a while, Liam occasionally leaning forwards to prod the fire. The house has been well kept, and Louis realises uncomfortably that there were probably survivors here until quite recently.

The carpet is an unfortunate shade of red that probably looked quite nice when things like vacuum cleaners were available, but is now blotchy and starting to mould. The wall colour is hard to make out in the firelight, but Louis thinks they might be pink, and he spares a pitying thought for whomever thought that was a good idea.

The fire spits suddenly, making them both jump. _The gods of interior design are angry._

“Louis?”

 _Of course._ He’d not really been expecting peace and quiet anyway. “Liam?” His voice is rough and quiet, but the only other sound is the crackle-spit of the fire. He can feel the difference after so many days under the constant buzz of electricity; Liam’s probably finding it a bit unsettling. It must have been a while since he’s been so alone.

He’s expecting a question about how he feels, whether or not he thinks he can carry on tomorrow, what might have happened to Niall. “When I got stuck in the shed, was that on purpose? I mean, were you trying to escape?”

That’s different, but in some ways it’s an easier conversation than the splinters in his legs, so he goes with it. “I was. I locked you in.”

Liam nods with a frown – he’d probably guessed as much. “And when Simon found you, you weren’t just exploring were you? You were trying to get away then too?”

Louis snorts. “Was that what they told you?” Liam nods. “I don’t seem to be very good at it. First Greg tried to kill me, then I fell down a cliff.”

“You—what!? Greg tried to kill you? Why?!”

It’s a reasonable question, and Louis spares a bit of pity for poor Liam. So many secrets and he’d had no idea. “He knows about the farms. Or he knows something. His sister told him, I think.”

Liam blows out a slow breath. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. It never really made sense, why she left.”

They listen to the fire for a while, enjoying the warmth, and Louis thinks that’s the end of it until Liam clears his throat. “When did he—when?” He asks quietly.

“After I locked you in.” Louis picks at the hem of his blanket. It’s some sort of synthetic wool, and it’s starting to fray at the edges. ”He caught me. Tried to strangle me.”

Liam shakes his head, and Louis thinks he looks a little lost. “But Greg likes you.”

And that’s the _second_ time Louis’ heard that. “Harry said the same.” It doesn’t seem likely though. “He must be pretending.”

“No.” Liam shakes his head. “He seemed really upset when you got hurt.”

“He tried to kill me Liam.” Louis thinks it’s probably worth pointing out again, seeing as it’s his life. He only has the one after all.

“I know. I know, but—we’re all a bit messed up Louis. I mean, the world ended. How stupid is that? And like… so many people died that death just, doesn’t mean as much anymore, you know? I mean with strangers and all.”

Louis snorts. “In that case, Harry probably likes me too.”

Liam’s face scrunches up again. _He’s going to get lines if he keeps that up_. “Well yeah, of course. Harry definitely likes you.”

“Exactly. Everyone who likes me tries to kill me.”

“What?” Liam looks endearingly confused.

“Harry tried to kill me too.”

“What!?!” When?? Why?!”

“When I found out about Lux. I think he was trying to protect her.” It’d taken a while to get Liam to understand why she’d had to stay a secret. He’d insisted that the compound was trustworthy; that they’d never tell anyone from a hospital about her. After all, Simon knew, and Zayn knew, and they didn’t ever interact with anyone else. Liam hadn’t even _seen_ anyone else – not in years.

 _It’s more complicated than that._ Louis had pointed out. Yes, there was the threat of betrayal if anyone else found out, but there was also Simon. Simon, who had five farms and presumably at least as many hospitals under his power, plus whatever security they had. After all, if the secret of Lux came out, then so would the truth about the farms. _It’s like a tower of cards,_ Louis had wanted to say. _You’re not as secure as you think you are._

“But Harry--” Liam sags, pulling Louis back to the conversation. “This is so messed up.”

Louis nods. At least there’s one thing they can agree on. Silence descends again, and Louis considers trying to sleep, but there’s something that’s been niggling him since the afternoon.

“Liam?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you think I was trying to hit on you?”

“Oh, umm. I just. It’s just that, sometimes you walk like, really close, and you touch my arm a lot. I mean, I know you do that with everyone, like I saw it with Harry sometimes, but like, you were just doing it a lot and I just thought…”

He was right then. He is one of those creepy people. And what the fuck was this about him touching Harry all the time?? Harry had started to do it to him and Louis had just thought it was Harry’s way, but _oh god._ Had Harry just been _reciprocating?_ When had this started?? Louis tried to think back.

He could picture it. Now that it’d been pointed out, he could actually picture it. Just odd little grounding touches here and there, just brushes of knuckles to remind himself that this is real, that he’s not hallucinating, that there really is another human in front of him.

Liam opens his mouth again, apparently ready to deliver more revelations for Louis to choke on. “And umm, you spend a lot of time, like, looking at my mouth? Not that it bothers me! It’s just—yeah.”

 _Well yeah, because that’s where your teeth are,_ Louis wants to say, but he’s glad that he doesn’t because it finally occurs to him that he’s actually been treating Liam like an actual dog. He’s been watching his body for signs that he’s about to lunge, watching his mouth for flashes of teeth. _Fuck._ What the hell is wrong with him? Has he actually lost his mind? He flashes back to Greg on that first day.

_“How long’s it been since you had company? How long have you been wondering alone? Like an animal? Do you even remember how to be a person?”_

He doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t. But for the first time, he finds himself _wanting_ too.

“I’m sorry.” He says quietly, ignoring Liam’s confusion.

“It’s all right mate. I wouldn’t judge even if you were being serious. You’re cute yeah? Underneath all that hair anyway.” Louis can hear the smile in his voice, can feel the gentle teasing. He’s missed it. “It’s just that… Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve kind of got my eye on someone else.”

Louis nods, and Liam seems satisfied enough with the interaction. He piles together some blankets on the mattress that Louis had watched him drag next to the fire. “Liam?” He asks, once the process seems to be complete and Louis has unfolded himself along the sofa.

“Yeah mate?”

“I don’t think I want to be on my own anymore.”

Liam smiles happily and nods, because it probably makes sense to him – who ever would have thought that Louis _wanted_ to be on his own.

But as Louis settles beside the orange flames, twitching slightly as his muscles unwind, it’s an epiphany, it’s enlightenment, it’s world changing.

_I don’t want to be on my own anymore._

\--

The next morning Louis is aching all over and sharp jolts run up his legs at even the slightest twitch. He’s halfway through telling Liam that he feels great when he cuts himself off.

“My legs hurt.” He says truthfully, “and my chest. I can probably make it, but it won’t be easy.”

“I’ll make you a deal then.” Liam grins at him with a strange light in his eyes. “Let me piggyback you when it hurts too much, and I won’t tell Harry that you have a crush on him.”

 _What._ “I don’t!” Louis splutters. His cheeks are heating up, but he does not have a crush on Harry. Sure, he has a few nice features, but the man betrayed him _and_ tried to kill him. That’s even worse than Greg. It’ll take a bit more than a pretty face for Louis to trust him again.

“Whatever you say Louis.”

“I don’t. Really.”

“Doesn’t matter though does it?” Liam grins. “Because once I tell him, the thought ’ll be in his head.”

 _Eugh._ “Fine.” Louis grumbles.

The day passes like the previous one. Louis has changed his clothes into dry ones and is now suddenly all too aware that he’s wearing Harry’s jumper. Jeans too, but he decides not to think about that. _Thanks Liam._

Louis manages for about two hours before his legs give out and Liam swings him up onto his back with a “ _Jesus you’re so light Louis.”_

It’s embarrassing. Even after Liam gives him a long lecture about helping each other and being kind to fellow survivors. Actually, it’s _more_ embarrassing after that, but they only have 5 days to get back before Harry sends another search party, so they don’t have time to stop.

Louis tries to ease the tension by looking out for Niall, and when that doesn’t work, he pretends to be a king riding his noble steed, and steers Liam from side to side to investigate every suspicious object.

He manages to coax a few chuckles out of his companion, but for once it’s Liam who is straight-faced and quiet. It’s not until they’ve finish lunch and Louis is back on his own two feet that Liam finally starts talking.

“Louis, I’m worried.”

“Ok.” Louis is always worried, so he understands the notion.

“Why haven’t we seen anyone yet?”

“Did you expect too?” Louis doesn’t get it. He’s spent the last _year_ without human interaction. Did Liam just think they would walk into a crowd or something? A group of little old ladies in their Sunday best?

Liam shakes his head. “Not—I mean, not a lot of people, but like, one maybe? We’re close to the compound now, maybe someone from there? I mean- do you think they’re hiding from us?”

 _Oh._ “No Liam.” It must be nice to live in the compound, to be so sheltered. Liam’s probably been there for years, he’d probably left the real world when there was still some of it left. “There aren’t so many of us left now. Definitely not without a place to stay; most people are in the compounds. Or the Farms.”

“But we found you though.”

“Yeah.” Louis shrugs, “but you send out regular patrols.”

“We don’t though.” Liam stops, and Louis is never not grateful for a break, but right now he’d rather not be in the path of Liam’s laser-stare. “We really don’t. That was the first time. Simon came over and told us to search for people. I just thought there were more people around, but there aren’t. There isn’t anyone for miles.”

Louis’ body turns to ice. Simon had known he was there… Simon must have known. Simon had been following him.

“I suppose it could have been luck?” Liam shrugs.

Louis shakes his head. No. Not luck. Simon must have known he was there. Oh god. How long had the man been following him? He feels sick.

“Louis?” A large hand reaches out and holds his shoulder firmly. “I’m sorry Louis, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Louis shakes his head. _No._ He needed to know.

“We’re going to get Niall and we’re going to find out what’s going on. You’re not alone anymore.”

And there it was again. Louis isn’t alone anymore. His head is still spinning but he reaches up and squeezes Liam’s hand. He can’t think of anything else so say though so he just starts moving.

They walk for another few hours before they spot the van. It’s parked down a side road, but it’s not particularly hidden. There’s no sign of life around it.

“Niall must have parked here and carried on on foot.” Liam suggests. There isn’t a key, but the doors are unlocked and apparently the electric engine works off a switch. It’s moot though, because when Liam flicks it on, nothing happens. “Battery must be dead. It drains out when it stands for too long.”

After that, they continue on in silence until the light starts to fade, Liam occasionally darting off the road to scout houses and warehouses with increasingly frantic movements. They reach a large red-brick building that looks like it was some sort of academy in its day, and Liam ducks around the back, checking windows and doors. Louis doesn’t know why – it’s obviously empty, the front entrance standing open, and there are no sounds or signs of life in the town.

“It’s fine Liam. There’s no one for miles, we can stay here.” He calls.

“It’s not fine.”

Louis turns, and Liam’s standing right behind him, and he’s pale and shaking and there’s a look on his face that Louis has never seen before, but it makes his guts wrench and his heart stop.

“It’s not fine! Niall’s not here. Simon’s not here. There’s no one here Louis!”

“I don’t understand.” Louis says carefully. “You come here every other week Liam. This building’s been empty for years.”

“There’s a warehouse – we walked past it. We drop the stuff there— that’s empty too.”

“So you’ve never been to the second compound?”

Liam shakes his head.

“Are you absolutely sure that this’ the right place?”

Liam nods silently.

“Well then.” Louis says slowly, rotating slowly to take in the town. They’ve walked through most of it to get here, and there’s still no one in sight. There’s no one here. But if not here, then where?

His own words come back to him suddenly _. “All babies born are sent to the nearest hospital for tests, and anyone who succumbs.”_

“Liam,” he can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, but suddenly Louis knows, he _knows,_ that this is the only option. “We need to go to the hospital.”


	12. The irritation we're pretending not to show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Blood, gore, vomiting (minimal), some violence

**_Princess Royal Hospital_** the sign reads, though the H is long gone and the black lettering is curling up off the metal.

Sounds of habitation have slowly grown louder as they’ve approached; small scrapes and bangs, easily ignored if you weren’t listening for it, but like a cannon in the sky to Louis’ over sensitised ears. He even thinks he hears a cow for a second.

And _thank god,_ because Louis had been starting to think that maybe he truly _was_ all alone in this world, and perhaps the compound and its inhabitants were all just a fever dream. He’s caught his knuckles brushing against Liam more than once since the man pointed it out.

The sound of dogs is as unwelcome as it is reassuring – their harsh barks carrying in the still air.

“Do we just walk in the front door?” Liam wonders aloud. “I can’t see any guards.”

It’s tempting. The Hospital complex is large, and although there are certainly people in there, they don’t seem to be guarding against the outside. _Why would they?_

The decision in the end is clear; they’re looking for Niall, so they should try their best to imagine his movements.

“He’d scout the outside, definitely.” Liam seems sure, and Louis is willing to defer to his knowledge. Liam himself, Louis suspects, would have barged in through the front door thinking himself sneaky.

The two-storey building is red-brick and sprawling, and it becomes quickly apparent that sneaking in the front door would be impossible anyway, as there seems to be any number of large glass doorways and no obvious main entrance. Some of them have been smashed or jammed open, and look like they were once automatic. Others are blocked up, or locked tight, their keys presumably lost forever.

To the side of a red, flaking sign reading _Accident and Emergency_ , there are heavy grey double doors that proclaim _Dirty Entrance._

Louis shivers in the gentle sunlight, trying and failing to push away flashes of busy streets and full carparks, of births and deaths and injuries, and when he finally succeeds – of experiments and pain and panic.

“You alright there mate?” There’s a gentle touch of knuckles at his neck and Louis flinches instinctively. “You ok Louis?”

“Yeah-- Yeah.” Liam brushes against him again, connecting with skin rather than the waxy fabric of his coat – just the smallest brush of fingers. He’s been learning apparently, what Louis is ok with and what he isn’t.

“Everyone must be round the other side. Shall we go round?” Liam says, and Louis lets his gaze rest on the bigger man’s searching brown eyes. He nods. “You sure?”

Louis nods again and gestures for Liam to follow. They back away from the entrance, ducking behind scrapped cars, overgrown hedges, trees, and a small blue tractor that for some reason is in the hospital carpark. Louis feels a bit like a child playing at James Bond, but he’d rather they looked a little stupid than get spotted. His legs are weak and shaking by the time they reach the other side of the hospital.

“There.” He points, as if Liam couldn’t already see for himself. They duck behind huge mounds of earth, heaped strangely to one side of a cracked concrete path. Beyond that, a handful of men and women are gathered around what looks to be a broken solar panel.

Away from the hospital, trees and tall shrubs mark the boundary of a crumbling road, bordering what Louis thinks must be a large field, judging by the surprising mass of cows he can see grazing.

There are other people as well – dotted haphazardly around carparks and out buildings – mending, sewing, transporting. Louis counts 17 that he can see.

“Where is everyone?” Liam hisses quietly.

Louis shrugs, reminded again that the sheltered man isn’t used to the outside world – how many people did his compound have? Sixty-two, sixty-three? Something like that. He looks back at the workers and does a quick mental calculation; seventeen here, at least two with the cows, probably a few shepherds out somewhere, and they must have a garden somewhere and an orchard, so people out plating and picking. And then there was the hospital itself, and they had no way of knowing how many people might be in there. _And someone with the dogs._

“Their gardens are probably further away.” Louis nods towards the rear entrance of the hospital, “too much tarmac.”

“Oh, of course.” Liam looks relieved, though Louis isn’t sure why. Fewer are definitely better when it comes to enemies.

Slowly, and on aching legs, the two of them shuffle back to the front of the hospital. Louis stares silently at the peeling paint.

_Go in, get Niall, get out. What could possibly go wrong?_

\--

There’s a strange, dry sort of rasping noise, and it’s setting Louis on edge.

 _Liam_.

Louis wants to call out, but he’ll have to be content with shouting inside his head, because Liam’s wandered off and now there’s a tall, brown-haired woman in between them.

Louis ducks back into his corridor quickly. _Shit_. She moves slowly, unlocking doors one at a time with a big set of keys; unlock, peer in, write something, lock up and repeat.

Louis had been expecting this, and yet, he hadn’t been expecting _this_. She has a clipboard, pencils, _paper_. Louis can’t get his head around it.

 _Liam_.

Louis’ legs are shaking, and the sting of defeat makes his eyes water as he slowly slides to the ground. He’s just so tired, that’s the problem. So very tired.

They’d spent the previous night in another empty cottage; Liam, uncharacteristically subdued and moving round the house like a ghost. Louis might as well have been a shadow. It was an unspoken agreement that they’d shared a large double bed, and although Louis had felt safer for the company, between an unfamiliar presence and the thought of today, his heart had refused to let him rest.

_Fuck, where’s Liam!?_

Louis tucks his heels underneath himself, his fingertips resting gently on the floor. Weak sunlight filters in through dirty windows and broken glass, and it doesn’t reach far, but it’s bright enough.

They’d followed the sounds, that was the problem; reasoning that the corridors upon corridors of gloomy, empty, silent rooms would be of no use. So they’d followed the faint sounds of rattling and footsteps until they found people. _And now look..._

She’s getting closer to the bend in the corridor now, and there’s nowhere else for him to go – the doors are all locked down this end of the hospital, voices echo up from the end of his corridor and he’s on the second floor, so the windows aren’t an option. Still… there’re three rooms left. He sits back and listens, tracking her feet across the dirty floor – once, it was probably an off-white, but layers of leaves and mud have built up where rain has come through and wet the dust. Specks of red and the occasional pool of rusty brown make Louis cringe.

Two rooms left.

Every tortured creak of a door ends in a cacophony of banging and crashing – or at least that’s how it seems to Louis’ sensitive ears. It’s metal on metal, and Louis doesn’t want to know-- he honestly doesn’t want to know what’s causing it. Be it animal, machine or human, succumbed or survivor. No part of him wants to know what’s in those rooms.

And now there’s only one left. One room and another loud creek.

Louis takes a deep breath. He runs.

Pushing up off his toes and out of an imaginary starting block he scrambles forwards, keeping low to the ground. With his heavy coat and rucksack stored safely outside he makes good time, the noise of his boots drowned out by the strange sounds.

The door is wide open as he sprints past it.

He doesn’t turn his head.

His spine tingles with imagined eyes, sending shivers that make his legs weak. He stumbles, skidding wildly towards a little side corridor. The doors are all locked; large padlocks hammered on haphazardly. He doesn’t try them.

Someone should have found him now, they weren’t being careful enough. Someone should have found him. Where the fuck is Liam? Where the fuck is _everyone???_

Louis swings himself around the corner faster than he’d have thought possible and waits to be found. He doesn’t know if he’s been seen – can’t hear anything beyond the rush of blood in his ears, can’t see anything through the dancing white spots in his vision, black creeping up around the edges.

Fuck. They shouldn’t have come, they shouldn’t have come. Louis tries to centre himself. Tries tapping his leg and counting the beat, but he can’t hear the taps, and his legs are numb. Numb from fear, from cold, from the endless cycling and walking and cycling of the morning.

He needs calm. Needs to breathe before he passes out. He can’t defend himself if he’s unconscious. His mind wanders to the compound – the empty skeleton of brick that had faced them in the sunlight. There had been dorm rooms and beds enough to house maybe thirty people or so, and no trace of medical facilities. The gardens, when Louis looked were overgrown and tangled, choked winter vegetables giving way to bramble and grass, and scattered patches of purple and white to suggest that some poor person had once sewn crocus bulbs.

Louis screws his eyes shut, trying to sink into the calm. The quiet had been like a creature; breathing and growling and growing with every unearthed worry.

_“Simon said they averaged one birth a week over five compounds.” He’d said._

_“Maybe the other compounds are bigger?”_

_“Maybe.”_

And there had been bikes. Bikes enough for ten at least, left rusting, abandoned, but still functional in the shelter of the building.

_“Louis, something’s not right. This place isn’t big enough for everyone.”_

_“We just need to find Niall.” He’d said._

He shakes his head to clear the memories. It’s not helping. Sharp pains fire in his legs and chest and his stomach clenches against it.

A thin, high, whine escapes from his closed mouth, mixing in with that faint, desperate rasping that’s still echoing through locked doors. And there’s something else now. Something that sounds like footsteps.

_Fuck. No. Fuck. Please._

Louis turns his head to find his eyes still shut, and when had that happened? He forces them open, trying to measure his breaths.

“Louis.”

His chest is caving in, and for some reason, he can hear Harry.

“Louis.”

A big warm hand falls on his shoulder, and Louis’ vision is dark and it must be Harry.

“Louis breathe.”

Harry moves up behind him, and there’s a strong, solid weight behind his back – rubbing his arms, warming him up, calming him down.

It’s familiar. It’s so familiar, and Louis feels his head tumbling back so many weeks to his very first escape. He feels himself sitting on the damp forest floor, his hands on the chain link fence, rib newly broken, and a warm, soapy-smelling body lifting him up.

Liam. It’s fucking Liam. Oh thank god.

Louis lets himself relax, piece by piece, riding out the last of the adrenaline.

“Louis. Jesus, what happened?”

“Nothing.” Louis lets out a controlled sigh. “Nothing, it’s ok. There was a woman but she didn’t see me. I had to run.”

“Ok.” The larger man shifts, so that Louis’ weight is leant up against the wall, before darting to the corner for a quick check. “So we’re in the clear.”

Louis nods and leavers himself up off the floor, stamping some life back into his much abused limbs. His head only swims a little.

He gets a quick nod for his trouble, and a wave as Liam jogs past him again, deeper into the dark corridor. “Come on.” Liam whispers. “I’ve got something to show you.”

\--

He can hear the rasping again, though the tone is a little different here, and there’s the occasional clank through the unlocked door.

_The unlocked door._

There’s a padlock hanging off it like the rest, only someone must have been careless, because it’s just hanging open. Liam reaches out and unhooks it, pocketing the useless item – it’s not like they have the key.

“Have you looked?” Louis asks, but he knows the answer already.

“Was waiting for you.”

 _Shit. Shit, Ok. Ok then._ He hates being right all the time.

Louis reaches out, his hand lightly touching the door handle. The metal is cold and smooth. “Ready?”

At Liam’s nod, he pushes the handle slowly down. Immediately, a loud clattering starts up, filling the air with the sound of metal on metal; Louis freezes, waiting for discovery.

There’s nothing though, no sound of footsteps, no angry shouting... he inches the door open about a foot; just wide enough for them to get in through, and then stops – wary of the creaking that he knows will happen if he pushes further. No one’s interested in the metal noise apparently, but the rusty squeal of a door is pretty unmistakable.

He waits for a second, counting his breaths and feeling his limbs, and still, no one comes to discover them. And there’s movement through the gap they’ve made, but nothing comes at them out of the darkness.

Liam goes first.

Liam goes before Louis can even think to tell him not to.

_No! Fuck!_

And now Louis has no choice but to follow.

Carefully, cautiously, he slips easily through and waits for his eyes to adjust.

\--

It’s the smell that hits him first.

Not the lumps snapping back and forth relentlessly, bound unforgivingly to wide grey gurneys, not the shadows looming in the corner, not the windows, nailed and boarded, and not even the heat – warm from all of the life packed into the tiny room.

It’s the smell.

It’s the smell of blood, cloying and coppery, in the back of his throat, the smell of meat and death and burnt skin, making the air thick with it. It’s the smell of decay and sewage and sweat.

Louis gags, choking on the warm, putrid air. From somewhere beside him he can hear Liam do the same, a clear human sound over all that noise.

And Louis doesn’t understand what’s happening, can’t follow the tracks of movement in the dark space, because one second Liam’s stumbling forwards to empty his stomach in a corner, and the next, a shadow in chains lunges and latches onto him.

“Louis--!”

Liam’s scream is cut off before it’s even started, catching in his throat and turning into a gritted roar as thin, rusty red arms wrap around his torso and yellow teeth tear into his neck.

_Fuck. Fuck!_

Oh god, what’s he supposed to do!? Louis jerks frantically forwards searching desperately for a weapon.

And now that he’s seen it he can see the other – tucked into the far corner; a twisted shell of a person, thin and brittle and broken. Clumps of hair line the floor, fallen from a papery scalp that can’t support them. And it’s twitching small spasms jerking the chains as it strains forwards, teeth snapping towards Louis.

Chains clank against each other, metal on metal as the straining creatures are held back at the wrists, the ankles, the throat, the waist. They’re naked, but dirt and blood are caked over their skeletal frames and their bodies have red and black punctures all over them – teeth marks, he realizes in sick fascination. The one in the far corner’s missing an arm, and Louis can see thick black ropes of scar tissue where it’s been cauterized closed. It looks recent, to his inexpert eyes, and it must be, because how else could it still be alive? The one holding Liam seems to be mostly whole, although, Louis notes with sickening clarity, it’s missing a foot. They’re both ageless, their faces too mutilated with scratches, and genderless; only charred remnants of missing organs left behind. And in both empty faces, their eyes are missing, leaving only blackened hollow craters.

Louis stares in horror.

And now Liam’s screaming as the masticated remains of a person tear open his skin, his yells turning high pitched and frantic. It’s so loud, the desperate rattling of chains picking up ten-fold and mingling with Liam’s screams, and what Louis suddenly realises are his own.

Surely someone will hear? Surely someone will save them? Louis doesn’t even care anymore. He just needs for them both to get out of this room and never come back. He needs to close his eyes and forget everything he’s seen here.

_Where is everyone?!?!_

Louis spins again helplessly, but there’s nothing. Nothing to help them.

“Louis!” Liam yells again, reaching out with one arm as the other scrabbles at the face that’s ripping at him, gouging him bloody. It’s teeth sink deeper with every uncontrolled tick of it’s body, convulsing and curling over Liam, spasming with whatever’s been done to it.

Oh god, what’s he supposed to do? What’s he supposed to _do!?!_ There’s nothing! Nothing! Louis can’t find anything, and he can’t understand what the lumps on the table _are_ and how the creatures in the chains are still moving and why _anyone_ would do this.

Dazedly, he thinks that there might be tears streaming down his face as he moves towards Liam and holds out his hands for the bigger man to latch on to.

He pulls, once, twice, and nothing’s happening, and his ears are filled with shouting and he’s not strong enough, he’s not. But he pulls and pulls as the air falls silent.

Dark, healthy skin grabs Liam beside him, and Louis looks across through endless fog.

Fuck, it’s Zayn. _Fuck._

And with a boom that rattles him to the bone, sound roars back into Louis’ ears.

The two of them tug – again, and again, timing them together, Liam using his own hands to drag the teeth out of his flesh. Again, and again, and again, until with a wrenching, tearing, crack, the arms rip out of their sockets and the creature falls on its lost limbs, burying its face desperately in the wet blood. And they’ve sentenced it to death, with wounds like that, but surely that’s better than the life it had?

The force of the break sends Louis spinning back, crashing into one of the writhing lumps on its wheeled hospital gurney, and he can see eyes, and a bloodied mouth, and stumps where limbs used to be, and oh god that was a person—it was a person!!

Arms drag him back, and Louis struggles with everything he has in him, breaking away and spinning to find a ghost-white, wide-eyed and trembling Liam dragging him desperately away.

“Louis we have to go!!! Louis!”

The rasping sound is still there, and Louis chokes back bile as he finally realises what it is – screaming. The screaming of someone who’s long since torn apart their vocal chords. The screaming of someone with no voice.

_Oh god. Oh god._

\--

They run together.

Out of the room and down a corridor, and Zayn is saying things, but he can’t hear them yet.

It’s Liam’s panicked voice that breaks through to him.

“I don’t—Zayn what--? I don’t understand? What was that thing? Why did it attack me?! Zayn--!? It bit me! Am I going to turn like that?!”

Zayn responds by slowing his run to a jog, and then a walk, panting in huge gulping gasps and leading them down a set of stairs into a dirty concrete corridor.

“We should be safe enough down here. Hopefully they just think that she tore her own arms off.”

It echoes around Louis head like a tolling bell.

There was a person in there.

“Zayn it bit me! Am I gonna turn?!”

“No. Liam. Liam!” Zayn catches the bigger man’s face between his hands and forces him still. “They aren’t zombies Liam, it doesn’t work that way. They’ve succumbed. They’re just desperate.”

“But I—I don’t understand.”

“They want water.”

“It attacked me!”

“There’s a lot of water in you.”

_Oh god._

Louis’ body goes cold, understanding washing over him. That’s why they’d torn off their own limbs. _Blood._ They were so desperate for water, even their own bodies would do.

“Simon’s got the ones in chains on some sort of experimental medicine. It stops them tearing themselves apart. He’s trying to cure them entirely.” Zayn looks down, dropping his hands from Liam’s face. “He’s trying to save us.” He says to the floor.

Louis shakes his head, his blood is burning in his veins, and they really, really, need to go.

“No.” He hears himself say from far away. “No Zayn.”

Zayn shuts his eyes and Louis shakes his head, spinning around, letting his head take note of things that his eyes have already catalogued, trying to silence the ringing in his ears. _No._ There’s a heavy metal fire exit at one end of the concrete corridor, and light is filtering in underneath it. _Outside. That must be outside_.

Zayn straightens suddenly, and Louis thinks that he’s probably shaking off the guilt, justifying things to himself. “Come on. I’ll take you to Niall.”

Part of Louis wants to ask why they should trust him, and an even bigger part wants to run for the fire exit and never come back. But Liam will never leave Niall here, and Louis isn’t sure that he could leave Liam to this fate. Not now.

_Should have run when I had the chance._

\--

The corridors are almost pitch black as they shuffle along, and even Louis’ sharp eyes don’t always pick out the abandoned boxes and bits of detritus that send them stumbling.

Zayn’s leading them surely though, no hint of confusion as he turns corner after corner.

“How long have you lived here?” Louis wants to know.

“A while.”

They continue in silence, and Louis is still hurting all over and he thinks for once he’s probably not the only one who’s struggling to keep going. He can feel a fine trembling through Liam’s coat where he’s holding on.

“Up here.”

Louis jumps at Zayn’s voice falling suddenly into the quiet. Only it’s not quiet, he realizes, straining his ears, because somehow, in the distance, he can still hear the clanking and rasping of tortured victims. He thinks he’ll hear it in his sleep tonight. He thinks he might never stop hearing it.

They climb the stairs carefully, squinting as they come out into the light.

“It’s an old surgery room.” Zayn whispers, though the sounds of metal chains are loud here. “Students used to do observations. It’s the only one left with fitted glass.”

There is glass. But that isn’t the first thing Louis notices.

Through the smudged panes a large operating theatre nestles between three faces of windows; all of them intact and ringed by corridors. The room itself is well lit – light pouring in from the bright sun outside, contrasting strongly with the chaos within.

Glinting cheerfully across wide, wet, swathes of red.

There’s so much blood. Oh god, there’s so much blood. Louis can’t see for it.

And there are people in there – or what used to be people – six of them, and all succumbed, all struggling, all screaming in angry hisses.

Four of them are chained to the floor by heavy metal rings, shackles dug into the skin of their upper arms, their wrists tied together to limit movement. They strain against them, blind eyes and bloody eyes and missing tongues and teeth all pointing towards the nearest victim; snapping and spitting. On the far side, Louis can see an arm hanging by a thread, its owner frantically struggling to detach the other. The torn limb is oozing blood much more slowly than Louis could have imagined, but surely the creature won’t be alive for much longer?

His stomach rolls and his chest pounds. _How—Why??_ It doesn’t make sense. That anyone could do this? Nothing makes sense!?!

Louis wants to look away, wants to shut his eyes and pretend he’s dreaming. He stares blankly into the room, tiny twitches running up and down his arms, pins and needles in his feet, his heart screaming for those people in chains.

And then there are two that aren’t chained.

His legs buckle as he finally gives in to the numbness spreading through his body and he drops to his knees, unable to comprehend the monster that could orchestrate this.

The two that are free have no arms, and now that Louis focuses he can see the remains of the discarded limbs and the shackles that held them. They’ve been fought over, worried and snapped at like dogs with a bone. Only the stumps – the hollows in their shoulders where their arms had once sat – are striped with black and red and charred shin. _They’ve been burnt_ , Louis realizes as his stomach lurches. Someone has been in there and cauterized the wounds to keep them alive, although surely not for long? Already Louis can see the tell-tale red track marks of blood poisoning on one of them. _And they’ve left the arms. Someone’s been in here and made the decision to leave their arms on the floor._

The creatures themselves are barely alive – one is close to the centre of the room, only twitching sporadically, pinned by its brothers. There’s a lipless, bloodied face of another buried into its groin, and when it raises its head to move to the thigh Louis sees the silver glint of an eyebrow piercing.

 _She._ Zayn’s voice comes back to him.

_They were people._

_They were all people._

White noise is ringing in his ears and his vision swims, but he can’t look away.

The fallen creature’s neck is open and gaping, showing slick wet expanses of spine, and its stomach has been torn apart, and Louis suddenly realises that it’s not alive, it’s just muscle contractions of a recently dead body. He’s seen it before when a dog had been wounded in front of him – its pack turning on it, sensing an even easier meal. _We did this,_ Louis remembers thinking, _this isn’t wolf behaviour_. It wasn’t natural. This was the work of something that’d been bred to kill.

He stares at the creature with the bar through its eyebrow; its face is a red ruin. No hint of features that would even identify it as human.

Louis swallows down bile.

The other unchained creature though, the other creature is the one that makes Louis go cold.

It’s missing its arms, but otherwise it’s almost intact, and there’s an intelligence in its eyes that the others don’t have. A dark, piercing, frantic stare. Louis wants to believe that it’s more human, but that isn’t it. There’s just— somehow, there’s _more_ of it. But it’s not a human intelligence. Not anymore.

It circles the outskirts. Darting in occasionally, weaving around the sea of snapping mouths.

As it moves, it watches the others carefully, looking for gaps, looking for a way through to the centre, each time getting a little closer.

Louis shivers violently.

And in the middle of everything, as still as stone and staring vacantly ahead, kneels Niall. His blonde hair is matted with red, and there are wide gouging scratches down his face. His clothes are ripped, and there are teeth marks on his wrists and hands. But he’s there, and he’s alive.

“Niall--” For a second Louis thinks it was him, until Liam’s hand snakes down to grasp his bicep. “Zayn, what are they doing to him?” Liam whispers, his voice shaky and cracking.

Louis still can’t look away, but he focuses on Zayn’s halting voice. “Simon has a theory… he thinks—adrenaline. He thinks it might protect against the infection. I don’t—It was something about blood to the brain and—stress hormones-” Zayn shakes his head. “I don’t want us to die— But it’s Niall. I couldn’t--”

“We have to get him out.” Louis whispers, using Liam’s arm to pull himself slowly to his feet. “Zayn. Now.” He turns to face them, and the movement tears the other two away from their horrified dreaming. “Zayn!”

“Ok! Ok. I have keys.” Zayn darts away, jogging round to the side with a door, another of those heavy padlocks hanging off it. He fumbles it with shaking hands as Louis and Liam catch up.

_It’s ok. It’s going to be ok._

They have Niall now. He’s right there. He’s ok. They have him and they’re going to get out of here.

“Zayn now!” Louis’ chest is burning and his legs are threatening to give way, but he holds himself together.

_It’s ok._

The click of the padlock is nothing to the clanking of chains, but it echoes through his head like a gunshot. Zayn pulls the door open roughly, and they rush inside.

It’s that same smell that slams into them as they enter the room – sewage and blood and decay – and jesus, how long has Niall been kneeling there in the middle of all this? His skin is grey beneath blood and dirt and he’s not even looking at them. _Shit._ How are they even supposed to get to him?

But that’s not the worst thing. Louis realises suddenly. It’s really not.

Because somehow, _somehow,_ they’ve forgotten about that one that’s loose.

It would be better, he thinks, if there’d been some kind of roar; more cinematic. But there isn’t – just more of the same, rasping shrieks, like sandpaper over wet wood.

It slams into him from behind, face first, and Louis goes down hard, falling onto his side, catching himself on his hand and shoulder. As he hits the floor he tries to roll, but the creature’s on him, falling with all of its body weight with no arms to catch itself.

Rotting breath blows into his face, and up close, there’s nothing but madness in its rolling eyes. Nothing human, he finally understands, and it hits him with a dark, pulsing, viscous terror. Its skin is thin and flaking; scabs and cuts peeling rusty red, and Louis can see a putrid brown hole in its cheek where its back teeth have decayed through the flesh. And it can’t live long. It _won’t_ live for much longer. But for now it’s driven with the force of the truly desperate.

_It used to be a person. It used to be a person. It used to be a person._

Teeth snap at his neck, shoulders and torso frantically writhing to get those brown teeth closer to skin. And the eyes. Oh god their eyes won’t stop staring at him, and if he lives through this he will never, _ever,_ purge the image from his mind. Louis wrenches himself backwards, slamming his head into the ground in his desperate hurry to get away.

The blow rattles him, letting him pull back from the overwhelming fear, bringing him back to himself. He blinks past the stars and the pounding in his head to bring his hands up. It’s got no arms. _It’s got no arms._ Bucking his hips with everything he has left, Louis manages to force the skeletal chest up a little, and using the momentum, he slips both hands between them, pushing hard and rolling away.

The force sends the creature crashing towards its brothers, and the two closest immediately fall on it, pinning it down and tearing huge chunks from its neck, its stomach, digging at its flesh with fingers curved into claws when their teeth prove too rotten.

Hazily, Louis sees Liam darting forwards into the path that he’s cleared; kneeling down beside a catatonic Niall. He’s trying to pull him up, but Niall isn’t moving and Liam’s too close to the others now and they’re pawing at him, trying to hook spindly fingers in his clothes, snapping and straining.

Louis is moving before he can even register. Before he can listen to his body screaming at him to turn and run. He can’t do it. He can’t leave them. Liam, Harry, Lux… even Niall – they’re home now. He finally has people who need him and he _can’t_ lose that again.

With a yell, Louis launches forwards, jumping over limbs and dodging teeth until he’s right beside Liam. There’s a creature that’s gotten its fingers curled into Liam’s t-shirt. Louis doesn’t even think. Sending his sanity to a tiny corner in his mind, he digs his fingers deep into its eyes, tears washing the dirt from his cheeks as he feels the tiny pop, pops as it permanently loses its eyesight. It rears back, distracted by the pain and loss of vision, and all of a sudden Liam’s free and they’re dragging Niall up together, pushing away the hands that reach for them and staggering away.

Louis slams the door shut behind him, only realising that Zayn’s missing when he sees the man jogging towards them from around the corner.

_Where the fuck is everyone!!?!?!_

Louis shakes his head against the persistent _thump, thump_ from the lump that’s forming under his hair. He wants to check if Liam’s alright – his neck is still bleeding freely from the bite, and he’s whiter than Louis would have thought possible. He wants to see if Niall’s ok – the blonde is deathly grey, his lips tinged blue and he still isn’t speaking or moving on his own, though there’s a fine trembling running through his muscles.

“We have to go! We have to go! They’re coming!” Zayn yells at them, the urgency breaking through where the words don’t. “Liam! Liam! Run!”

The pounding of heavy boots echoes down the corridor. Lots of boots.

 _Oh,_ Louis thinks faintly, _so that’s where everyone is._

And then Zayn’s dragging at Liam’s arm and sprinting away, and Liam’s pulling Niall on shaky legs, ducking under his arm when it’s clear that he can’t support himself. And what else can Louis do but wrap Niall’s other arm over his shoulder and trip his way along with them?

\--

“This way, this way!” Zayn sprints through an open doorway and the two of them follow, still supporting a stumbling Niall between them. “We can get out through the old Neuroscience centre – I stole the key from Simon. Don’t worry it’s empty!”

They curve through more corridors, slowing to a jog, and then finally a walk. There’s no sounds of pursuit, nothing but the same, faint rasping screams of the succumbed. Or maybe that’s just in Louis’ head? The clank of chains is finally gone, Louis notes with relief.

But it doesn’t make sense. _Why would they let us go?_

“Here. Ok, here.” Zayn stops them in front of a set of metal double doors. There’s no padlock this time, but he pulls a shiny Yale key out of his pocket. “Ok.”

The door opens smoothly, not a creak in sight and the three of them traipse in, the lock clicking quietly behind them as the heavy metal falls closed. They’re in a tight corridor with another set of double doors, and these have an electronic pad next to them that must have opened only with card access at one time, but it’s been broken and forced open.

Louis thinks for a second that he was right, and that the terrible rasping screams would be in his ears forever, because somehow it’s _louder_ here. And _no. No, that’s not right._ They shouldn’t be able to hear it. He shouldn’t be able to hear it here.

“Zayn…” His voice is quiet. Too quiet for them to hear.

 _Something’s not right._ He wants to say, but there’s no time.

Zayn pushes through without pause, Liam following on his heels and pulling a staggering Niall behind him, and once more, Louis finds himself dragged along behind, forever at the whim of someone less cautious.

And then he’s through, and it’s too late, and everyone’s stopped.

It takes a second for his brain to register it, because it doesn’t make sense, what he’s seeing. It doesn’t make sense.

The room is big. Very big. It must have been a research laboratory at one time, but someone’s been through and ripped the equipment out leaving only long rows of benches and hospital beds fitted between them.

And on every single available surface. Every bed, every counter, every space on the floor; a voiceless, twitching body is strapped down. Only these aren’t like the skeletal remains of humans from the other rooms. These have pale skin, but no scratches. Their eyes are wide and staring, but not scarred or blind. And they’re naked, but not dirty. The room smells clean – as clean as it can be, though the copper tang of blood sits on the back of Louis’ tongue and he catches flashes of red here and there.

_Bed sores._

Into an arm of each patient – because Louis can’t think of these people as _creatures_ , not anymore, not like this – is an IV, keeping them alive as it drives them mad with the steady drip, drip, of saline and whatever else Simon has them on, and below, catheters to take away the waste.

Light is entering the room through high windows, and it’s perfect, Louis realises, through a fog that grows thicker with every pounding in his head and every twist of his rolling stomach. It’s perfect. Because no one can see in, and they’re strapped down so tightly that there’s no sounds, and the wing is supposed to be empty and only Simon has the keys.

So no one can see the massive use of their last remaining medical supplies. No one can see the frantic writhing of people gone mad; the succumbed, tugging their bodies raw against the wide leather straps and rubbing sores into their backs.

No one can see the rounded, _pregnant_ bellies stretched out in row after row, like animals on a Farm.

_Please no._

“You’re breeding them.” Does he say it out loud? Or was it one of the others?

_What is this?_

_No one would do this?_

_This can’t—_

_No—_

There all here, insane and tortured and _pregnant._

Stretched and aching, and how could anyone do this??

Louis thinks he might be sick. Thinks he can hear someone being sick, and as he tilts his head, he catches sight of Liam, bent double in a corner, and Niall, back on his knees where he’s fallen, and Zayn, knelt beside him with his head in his hands.

They’re all here, so close to the compound, so close and yet no one’s seen it.

No one except them.

And, leaning casually against the far wall, Simon.


	13. We fall behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Blood, injury

“You should probably leave _that_ if you’re planning on getting out of here.” Simon gestures, his voice breaking the silent stale mate that’s fallen over the room.

It takes Louis a few seconds to realize what he’s getting at.

He can still see him kneeling out of the corner of his eye; blue eyes wide and staring out at the room.

Louis shrugs, shaking his head of Niall’s unnatural stillness, of the bodies on tables; blocking out what’s not important, focusing on the threat at hand. _Simon._ ”No.” His chest is reminding him that it’s hurt and his legs are shaking and his head is pounding. He’s not going to waste his words on this man.

“Well then I can’t let you go.”

_You were never going to let us go anyway._

“We’re not leaving without Niall!” It’s Liam, of course. Loyal, dramatic Liam.

Simon only smirks, keeping his eyes on Louis. “I’m not sure you’d want him anyway.” He says conversationally, “he looks a bit thirsty to me.”

Louis turns quickly, but Niall’s still there, still kneeling, still staring. Only he’s not staring at the bodies, Louis finally realises with sweeping cold clarity. He’s not staring at the greyish, distended, naked stomachs. No. He’s staring at the steady drip, drip, drip of saline.

_Fuck._

_Fuck no._

_No. That’s not possible._

They’ve _saved_ him. They’re getting him out. They’ve saved him!

“You promised you wouldn’t.” It’s just a whisper, barely carrying across the room, and it’s Zayn, of all people. Louis had expected Liam, but the brown haired man has fallen to his knees and is staring across at his friend with wild, panicked eyes. “You said you’d stop this.”

Simon nods. ”I did. And you said that Lauren had given birth to a healthy baby. I never thought you’d lie to me Zayn.”

“I never lied to you,” Zayn tries to say, but his voice is cracking and even Louis can hear the lie in that.

“You told me Lux was Lauren’s daughter, only she isn’t.” Simon counts off on his fingers, “you told me that not one of my breeders had carried a child to term, when they had. You told me that breeding from the succumbed was a failure. That’s quite a lot of lies Zayn.” He says conversationally.

Zayn’s gaze is glued to the floor. “I didn’t—They weren’t lies.” _Lies. Again._

Simon laughs, quick and stinging. “Do you think I don’t know when someone’s pregnant?” 

“I—What?”

_Exactly. What?_ Louis feels like he’s missed a piece of the puzzle somewhere. Like he’s missed a million pieces. None of this is making any sense.

How has Simon done this? Where have all these people come from? Where is everyone _else?_ And Lux. Louis doesn’t even want to think about Lux. Doesn’t want to think that her mother might be in here somewhere, writhing and desperate.

And Zayn _knew._ Only Louis doesn’t know how much yet. Doesn’t know how deep the betrayal might go.

But Louis has a job to do. Because Niall’s succumbing, and Liam’s too horrified to think, and Zayn’s still on his knees and is babbling nonsense about Lauren and compounds and lies. So it’s up to Louis to get them out of here.

Answers can come later. Simon’s blocking the only other exit, but Louis doesn’t rate their chances if they go back the way they’ve come. The corridors are bound to be flooded with people by now. He scans the room, catching only the end of their conversation.

“It’s not ok!...” _True._

But not what’s important right now. What’s important is staying alive, and staying alive means getting out of here, because Louis still remembers the footsteps from before, and they must be coming. How could they not be?

There’s nothing though.

There are the saline drips, only Louis doesn’t want to get too close to the tables – it’s irrational he knows, he won’t catch anything from them – and a bag of water isn’t exactly the perfect weapon.

Wait, no. _A bag of water._

He checks his pockets – nothing – Niall’s next to him, but the pockets have been ripped off his heavy jeans, and Louis doesn’t want to think about how it happened, but he remembers bloodied hands reaching out for them. Zayn has dragged himself to his feet, still arguing about _apples_ and _immune responses_ and _sodium nitrite_ , and honestly, Louis has no idea. Which just leaves Liam.

Liam, and the weird bulge in his pocket.

Louis squints at it for a moment before it finally clicks. _Yes._ Liam and the heavy padlock that he’d taken from the open room.

Louis edges himself over, still ignoring the argument that’s getting steadily louder. Only flinching every time he hears the name _Lux_ , curling over slightly against his twisting stomach. _Simon’s coming for Lux. He reminds himself. He’s coming and we’re supposed to stop him._ And they _have_ to get back, otherwise all of this will have been for nothing.

Liam’s not even looking at him as he bends down and gently lifts the padlock from the larger man’s pocket, curling his fist around it, bouncing the weight slightly. He only has one chance.

One chance, and Simon’s not looking, and Zayn has staggered further across the room and is hugging himself and shaking his head, and Liam’s rising to his feet, getting involved in the argument that Louis isn’t even _listening_ to.

_One chance._

He throws the padlock.

Louis has gotten pretty good at aiming, since the world ended. A well-aimed rock could stop an attacking dog in its tracks, could take down a bird if he was especially lucky, could mean food to live for another day.

The padlock sails across the room, a full two feet from Simon’s head.

It tears through one of the saline bags.

_I’m so sorry Niall._

The scene unfolds slowly, but Louis is already moving, taking hold of Liam and tugging as the bag explodes in a fountain of water.

Niall’s already moving.

_I’m so sorry._

The blonde launches himself up off the floor, unable to hold himself back. His eyes are wild and his mouth is open Louis can feel his heart break for the man, because there’s no going back for him.

“Liam _come on_!” He drags the bigger man forwards, lurching unevenly as he finally gets the picture and starts to run. “Liam!”

They dodge around Zayn, Louis staying out of arms reach because Zayn knows too much. Zayn’s always known too much, and Louis can’t trust anyone but Liam right now.

Simon stumbles out of the way half a second before Niall barrels into him, and Louis sticks out his foot and gives him a push for good measure, watching him tumble heavily to the ground, banging his head on the floor with a resounding crack.

He rushes through the door, only Liam isn’t following, and as he turns he hears a meaty _crack_ and catches Liam’s fist connecting with Niall’s jaw.

“Liam--” He doesn’t know what to finish that with, so we just watches blankly as Liam hefts up an unconscious Niall, pulling him across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

Simon’s groaning on his back, his eyes unfocused, but it won’t be long until he’s back up. Louis watches in dazed fascination as streaks of red paint the floor. _Head wounds bleed so much._ He should have pushed him harder maybe? But Louis can’t be responsible for any more death in this world. He _can’t._ Not even Simon.

“Ok, go!” Liam yells, right next to Louis’ ear. It’s loud, and it’s sudden and it rips the fog from his mind. The shock of it does more than the words ever could, and with one last look at Simon and his room of tortured, pregnant creatures, Louis turns and sprints down the long, grey corridor with his ears ringing.

There’s another set of footsteps following them, and Louis risks a glance behind them to see Zayn slowly catching up, and Louis _still_ doesn’t know if he can be trusted, but that decision apparently isn’t his, because Liam slows as they reach a T-junction. “Which way?” He shouts, still bellowing despite the heavy silence that’s blanketing this part of the hospital. “Zayn, which way!”

And really, there should be noise, but there’s just nothing. Just endless, grey nothing. Louis’ head is spinning.

The dark haired man sprints ahead, his eyes wide, and Louis allows himself to believe for a second that he might be on their side. It doesn’t matter anyway, at this point – he’s made the decision to get Liam out, and Liam seems to have blinkers on where Zayn is concerned.

“This way! This way!”

They follow Zayn through corridor after corridor, down sets of stairs and back on themselves, never faltering. _You know the way._ Louis’ chest is becoming unbearable, and he doesn’t know how long he can keep this up. He can’t imagine how Liam is managing it, and Niall is starting to stir where he’s hanging down the big man’s back. _You’ve been here before. So why were you surprised? What do you know?_

“Ok! Ok stop.” They pull up in front of a door, and Louis recognizes it from before. They’re back in the dirty underground corridor, cement walls surrounding them and the fire exit outlined sharply by the bright sunlight outside.

Louis thinks he might be able to hear the faint rasping screams of the people upstairs.

He _knows_ that he can hear the sound of footfalls.

“Ok, you guys go. I have to get something for Niall.” Zayn pants, and he’s trying to seem unaffected, Louis thinks, only the man’s voice is still wavering, and there’s a small tick at the corner of his eye.

_Will you?_

But Louis has no choice. He nods once, and hurries them along. Liam’s trembling now, and Niall is starting to struggle, and he doesn’t know how long either of them can keep this up for.

“The car.” It’s so faint. It’s so faint that Louis thinks he might have imagined it, but he turns and Niall is staring straight at him, his eyes focused for the first time since they’ve got him out, and Louis suddenly feels a sharp stab of guilt, because it was _his_ idea to send Niall. And now he’s dead, even if he is still talking.

Louis shakes his head. “It’s flat.” He whispers, as if the silence is all that’s holding Niall’s delicate grip on sanity.

“No it’s not. It’s disconnected-- Just get me there. I can do it… You can get away.”

“And you.” Liam whispers back. And Louis isn’t going to correct him because the words are choking his throat. “You’re coming with us.”

Niall says nothing.

\--

They explode out into the sunlight, the sudden change making Louis’ head throb. Louis spins a few times and… _Dirty Entrance._ They’re back where they came in. Zayn’s brought them back to where they started. Shit.

_He’s been watching us._

Shit. Louis doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing and he doesn’t know who to fucking trust. It was so much easier when he trusted no one.

They sprint sideways, ducking behind cars, and Louis spares a second to collect their coats and bags from the old mini they’d stored them in, as Liam sets Niall on his feet. “Can you walk?” He asks, and Niall’s hesitant nod will have to do. “Can you run?” A shrug this time. _Maybe._ Can any of them run at this point?

The three of them start off again, Louis back in his coat with a bag securely over his shoulders. Liam has wrapped his own jacket firmly around Niall and has shouldered his rucksack.

A loud barking starts up, and Louis feels it in his bones, sitting in his sharp chest, colouring his vision with red and black spots.

“We can trust Zayn. He’ll have something for Niall. It’s going to be ok.” Liam tries to reassure them.

_Zayn knew the way, knew what was going on. Zayn’s been following us. They have dogs. Niall’s already lost._

_Niall’s lost._

Louis keeps his mouth shut.

It’s a short distance out of the hospital car park, and from there, the road threads through a tangled housing estate. The air is fresh and the sun is bright and there are birds singing in the sky. The unfairness of it all makes Louis angry. He wants clouds, and rain, and dark – not some flawless blue postcard village.

There’s still no movement from the hospital, and the inaction makes him feel worse somehow – increasing his sense of urgency. So they run, and they stumble, and they stagger, until Niall suddenly stops and looks Louis in the eye; he’s pale, and shaking, and his face is lined and desperate.

“I can’t--” Niall shakes his head with wide eyes, and Louis is panting and sweating and there’s bile trying to crawl up his throat. “Please. Please just—I can’t!”

“Niall what--” Liam looks so confused, and Louis is going to be sick because how can the man be _so fucking naïve._ “It’s ok Ni, just keep going. Zayn’s bringing something to make you better.”

_There is no fucking cure Liam!_ There are tears pricking at the side of his eyes, and there are so fucking few of them now, and they’re a family, even if Louis is still only on the side-lines. And it was Louis’ idea to send someone here, and now Niall’s going to die.

_Niall’s already dead._ He looks over at the shaking man.

“Louis--” There’s fear in the lines at the corner of his eyes, but there’re no tears, and his face is hard with resignation. Louis hasn’t known him long – hasn’t known anyone long anymore, but he recognises that look. “Louis please. I can’t--” his voice cracks. “Louis _please._ You understand. I know ya do.”

Liam’s shaking his head over and over, he takes two steps towards the blonde. “Niall no. Niall! You have to keep going. Just a little bit longer. Zayn’s coming. He’s going to cure you.”

“There is no fucking cure Liam!!” And oh, did those words actually come out of Louis’ mouth?

The brunet is looking at him in horror, and Louis doesn’t know what expression’s on his face, but Niall’s nodding over and over, his fists clenching and unclenching. “He’ll do it. He will. Louis--”

_Fuck. Fuck!_ Louis spins himself around, but he doesn’t know what to do! The barking of dogs is getting closer, and Louis thinks that somewhere he can hear the hum of an engine.

“Now. Louis—please--?” His voice is so quiet. So desperate.

The air is so still, and even the birds are silent – or maybe Louis just can’t hear them over the rushing in his ears? There are tears on Liam’s face as he stumbles up to Niall, desperately pawing at the man. For what Louis doesn’t know. “Niall—Niall please!” His quiet, hiccupping sobs melt into the barking of the dogs.

He’s not—He’s asking Louis to kill him. Louis understands. He isn’t a child, and he isn’t a coward. But there are so few of them left, and Louis doesn’t think he can. But watching Niall slowly come apart, watching him pull and scream and kick until someone lets him dive under water and fill his lungs. Louis can’t do either.

_You should have run. You should have gone when you had the chance._

“How—How do I--?” he manages. And Liam’s still shaking his head and has curled his body around the blonde, but Louis’ eyes meet steady blue and Niall sags with relief.

“I don’t want to drown--” Niall chokes out, and at last the tears start to fall.  

“No—Ok. Ok.”

“Louis no! Louis please. _Please._ Louis, _Zayn._ ” And Liam’s begging _him_ now. Like he’s the bad guy. _You are. You started all this._ “Louis _please!_ ”

He flashes back to that first day, to his first chat with the cheerful Irish man. He remembers wondering who dyed his hair, how they got electricity, how he was so clean. _As if it mattered._ As if any of that fucking mattered. He should have just run. Just sprinted the second he heard an engine.

He could have gotten away, and Lux would have been safe, and Niall would be alive.

But he’d been so alone. Just him and his bag and his handful of things: his wallet, his tin foil, and all of his stupid possessions that he’d guarded so very carefully.

And all of a sudden Louis knows what to do. There are houses all around them, houses with kitchens. And Louis has had to kill before – has ended a rabbit to save his own life – his little knife had been one of the things he’d guarded the most faithfully, until Harry’d given him his rucksack back and it wasn’t there anymore.

“Ok Niall. Ok.” He takes a slow step forwards, and his head is quiet, and his vision has faded around the edges, and the pain in his body has given way to the rolling sickness in his stomach, surrounded by a numb, grey static. “Ok.”

Liam has slumped to the floor and wrapped himself around Niall’s legs, but the man himself is standing firm. Barely twitching as he clenches his eyes shut.

“Ok.”

Louis moves in silence, jogging towards the nearest door. The distant barks of dogs on a trail is still mingling with the sounds of Liam’s faint pleading, and there’s movement from between two of the houses, but Louis has a job to do.

Wait no. _Movement._

_Shit!_

He stops with a jolt, awareness spinning back to him in a hot wash of feeling and adrenaline. _Fuck!_ There’s movement! _Please not now! Please!_  

The movement gets closer, gets louder, and it doesn’t sound like dogs; it sounds like thick-soled boots and panting. It sounds like a person. It must be. But Louis has no weapons, and he’s still too weak to fight. He’ll try though. He’ll take whomever it is down with him.

The shape bursts around the corner, and _fuck, Zayn! It’s Zayn._ His chest contracts painfully.

Zayn’s running flat out towards them, only slowing once past Louis and in arms reach of Niall; waving a bottle in front of him. “Niall you need to take this, you need to drink it! Now!”

The urgency shatters the peace, and it’s contagious; Zayn’s panic dragging Liam to his feet and sending Louis sprinting back to the three of them, a shout building in the back of his throat, but for what he isn’t sure.

The dark eyed man uncaps the bottle and pushes into Niall’s hands. “Drink! Drink it!”

It’s milky white and bitty with brown flecks, but it’s unmistakably water-based and they couldn’t stop Niall even if they wanted too. He snatches at the plastic bottle frantically and downs the contents, choking in his haste.

“I’m sorry.” Zayn looks so desperate, and Louis lets himself hope finally that the man might be on their side. “I didn’t know. I didn’t--”

The sound of an engine revving echoes over the wind.

“ _Shit._ You need to get off the main road! You can’t stay here, Simon has cars! He has a motorbike! He’s sending his security team!”

_Ok. Ok._ Louis tries to shake his head from it all. Too much keeps happening, and he doesn’t understand so much, but he’s _good_ at this. Staying alive is what he’s best at. _Think!_ Louis knew that Simon would have cars. He knew the man would have dogs. He expected it. He’s seen them before. They just need to cut through the tangle of houses that surround the hospital. He spotted a park on the way in – they have trees, they can climb them, leave Niall there and make a run for their van.

Liam spins round, staring at one of the houses. “We can hide somewhere! They’ll never find us, there’s loads of houses here.”

Zayn shakes his head. “They’re getting out the dogs. They can track you—they have Niall’s coat. You have to run.”

“They’re just dogs.” Liam says, his eyes drawn by Niall’s desperate sucking of the now empty bottle, and Louis can still see the tension in his shoulders, but it’s less now, as if he truly believes that Niall will be ok.

“They aren’t. Liam they aren’t. They’ve been beaten. Starved. Don’t underestimate them.”

“Then what the hell are we supposed to do??” Liam snatches the bottle away, pushing it roughly into his rucksack.

“Just trust me! Just fucking run Liam! I’m going to go back and try and confuse them. Ok?”

The three of them stare at him blankly. Louis’ knees are week. _Please not dogs. Please._

“Run!!!”

They run.

\--  

Their van can only be about two miles from the hospital, but it’s hard going as they stagger through abandoned garden after garden, bramble and weeds tugging at their clothes. They run for about five minutes before Niall starts to pant.

Liam picks him up again and they carry on at a much slower pace. “Louis, we’re not going to make it. We need a new plan! Louis!”

Louis shakes his head and presses on. There’s too much going on in his body for him to think. Pain, adrenaline, dizziness. They just need to get out of the housing estate. They need to get to the _trees._ Louis understands trees. The sounds of dogs are louder now, barks and snarling echoing through the empty city.

_Shit no. No!_

“I can’t—I—Louis!” Louis turns in time to see Liam stumble and sink to his knees, his strength finally failing.

Niall falls to the grass, still panting, drawing Louis’ eyes. _Something not right._

They’re all exhausted, all injured, all hurting. But there’s something wrong with the way that Niall’s body keeps twitching… and he’s so out of breath, Louis realises, only how can he be panting from exertion, when Liam’s been carrying him all this way? Louis looks closer, and there’s sweat on the man’s forehead and his legs keep kicking and his lips are tinged blue.

“Shit-- Niall…?” Louis’ voice is a whisper. “Niall what— Niall?”

“Huh--?” Liam blinks his big eyes in confusion looking down where Niall struggles to breathe. “No—No Niall--! Shit! What’s wrong with him?? Louis! What do we do!!?”

Louis looks around frantically, and they’re surrounded by houses and there aren’t any trees to climb and Louis doesn’t know. He just doesn’t fucking know, but there’s a broken window to his left so he drags Niall towards it.

_He’s dead, leave him._ His stomach rolls.

“Come _on_ Liam!”

The two of them get him inside somehow, the exertion leaving Louis with stars dancing in front of his eyes, and Niall pawing uselessly at the cut they’ve opened in his side. There’s broken glass everywhere, and the house smells of mould. _Good. Maybe it can put off the dogs._

The inside is peeling and abandoned and it looks like no one’s lived there since this nightmare started. The wallpaper had flowers on it once, but it’s yellowing and stained with water damage. They drag Niall further in and up the stairs until they’re in the master bedroom, and together, the two of them haul the large bed in front of the door.

Louis is shaking by the time they’ve finished, every bark making his legs weakand tightening his stomach.

“Liam-- Liam.” Louis’ words are slow, and hollow, and there’s nothing—no response that will make this better.

They’re going to be caught. The dogs are going to find them and rip them apart. He can hear them barking. Hear the snarls. He can see their big yellow teeth and dark, angry eyes.

“Louis!” Liam takes him by the jaw, and faintly Louis realises that he’s been shaking his head repetitively. _Not dogs. Anything but dogs._ The barks get louder. “Louis calm down. They aren’t going to find us up here.”

_Of course they are. Dogs always find you. They’re going to find us and Niall’s going to die and we’re going to be torn apart and Simon will take Lux and experiment on her._

“Liam--”

“No. Louis stop. Louis!”

There’s the sound of choking, and the two of them turn to see Niall convulsing on the large double bed.

“Shit! Louis I need you! Louis help!”

_No!_ There’s a surge of adrenaline, and Louis’ head starts to clear. He isn’t about to give up. Not now. He’s survived worse than this.

He has a sudden flash back to his last compound – the screams when it was raided, that same angry barking of dogs. He remembers being forced to the ground by a large man with bright blue eyes and a large silver knife. He’d slashed him on the arms, on the legs—Louis still doesn’t know how he managed to get away, but somehow he had. And he’d staggered through the forest trying to block out the sounds in his ears and choking on the guilt and shame of not going back to help. And he’d nearly given up; so many times he’d nearly lain down and let it all end.

But he hadn’t.

And he’s not about to give up now when there are people here that he can actually help.

Niall’s still seizing on the bed, so he rushes over as Liam is rolling the blonde onto his side. “He can’t breathe! Louis, he can’t breathe!”

_Fuck._ What the hell had they given him? “The bottle! Liam get the bottle!”

The brown eyed man pulls the empty plastic from his bag, and Louis twists the cap off hurriedly. There’s nothing left inside but…

“Almonds. It smells like almonds.”

_Almonds. Shit._ There’s something. Some niggle in the back of his head and he can’t _remember!_ Niall is going to die because he can’t remember what the smell of fucking almonds means!

“I don’t know!” He shakes his head. “I don’t know. We need to get him to the doctor—to Reem. She’ll know.”

“Too late.” Liam whispers, and he’s finally torn his eyes away from Niall and is staring out of one of the murky glass windows.

Louis doesn’t need to look to know what he sees. _They’re here._

The barking is loud and it’s going straight to his feet, but there’s nowhere to run even if he was willing to leave Liam and Niall, and the latter is still coughing and seizing on the dirty green bedspread and Louis doesn’t think he could leave _anyone_ like that.

Louis wrenches his gaze away and rushes to join Liam at the window. And _fuck,_ that barking. The barking needs to stop. He can’t _think!_ He can hear them inside the house downstairs, running and snapping and snarling. Getting closer with every beat.

Through the glass he can see the road below, only there’s no one there. “Liam, where--?”

”There. One man, on a bike. I didn’t recognize him.”

Louis turns slightly and there it is, parked a little way down the road – a large black motorbike – a bit dirty, but in better condition than their own van. There’s no sign of the man he mentioned though. _Where are you?_

The answer comes immediately. As if on cue, the sudden sound of boots on stairs makes Louis’ insides freeze. _Shit. Shit!_

The bike. They have to try and get to the bike. It’s the only option. _The window maybe?_ Liam’s darted across to the door, making sure that the bed is pushed firmly against it. It should hold for a while. He pulls at the window frame, throwing all of his body weight behind it. Nothing happens. It’s sticking, and Louis doesn’t have the weight to pull it open, and he definitely doesn’t have the strength.

_Shit. Liam!_

He doesn’t have time to get the shout out before the bigger man is there, hauling at the warped frame. They pull together – once, twice, again, and again, until finally, with a wrenching crack, it pulls open, sending Louis flying to the ground just as claws begin to rake against the door.

_Please no._

He cowers for a few moments, drowning in sharp teeth and wild dark eyes. _No._ That’s not here. That’s not now. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, wrestling his heart back down from his throat. _No._ Liam’s dragging Niall across the room; one arm wrapped around his chest and his hand gripping the man’s chin. _Like a lifeguard’s hold. Like he’s drowning._ Louis shudders again.

Niall’s twitching less now, his breaths still shallow, and Louis doesn’t know if it’s kinder to take him or to just leave him. But he can’t. He can’t leave the man here. He can’t let him become one of those starved creatures in Simon’s hospital. He’ll kill him first.

But they need to get out of here, and the window’s too high. They’re too high--

There’s a wardrobe against one wall, and Louis suddenly flashes back all those weeks to his first few days at the compound; is suddenly sent back to piles of hay, and Liam pushing him off the roof.

_The wardrobe._

“Liam! Liam help me!”

He sprints over and pulls the door open. _Please please please. Yes!_ There’s blankets there. Blankets and spare pillows. He bundles them up, tossing them to Liam who gets the idea quickly and drops them carefully out of the window.

The chest of draws comes next, and all of the clothes that Louis can find tumble down to join the blankets outside. _More. We need more._ There’s an old _en suite_ bathroom that Louis rushes to next, and towels follow the rest, and yes! A cupboard with a spare duvet.

A sharp crack accompanies the deafening growls as Louis jogs back with his prize, making him stumble, sapping the fight from his legs. Liam has pulled the bedspread, sheets and pillows off the mattress and added them to the pile, and as Louis regains his momentum, the duvet is pulled from his arms and added to their safety net.

_Now. Now!_

There’s a burning at the back of his throat, and Louis swallows around it.

The sickening scratch of claws on the door has been joined by the sound of a boot on wood. He flinches with every thud, the doorframe shaking, and now the bangs are coloured with the sound of splintering.

The burning starts to itch, building and growing, and _maybe it’s a scream_ , he realises, because he’d do just about anything not to become one of Simon’s projects. Not to end up like Niall. _Not to be torn apart…_ Only he’s too small to catch Niall when he falls, he suddenly realises, which means-- “You first Liam.”

And Louis almost expects an argument, but Liam must have done the same calculation, because the bigger man only nods, hauling himself out of the window and lowering down until he’s hanging by his fingers. It’s not that far. It’s not. It’s only one story.

He lets go.   

Louis stops breathing.

He stops breathing. And when he looks down, he realises that Niall has too.

_No!_ “Niall!!”

No this isn’t fair! Faintly Louis thinks he can hear the sound of Liam shouting up to him, telling him that he’s ok. But Louis can’t—He can’t understand, because they’ve come too far for things to end like this.

_You wouldn’t all fit on the motorbike anyway._

Louis drops to his knees. First aid. He remembers. He’d known it before, had seen it in films, and even if he hadn’t, his old compound had made sure that he knew the basics. How could you not, at the end of the world?

He puts his fingers to Niall’s throat, but he can’t feel a pulse. _Shit._ But it’s fiddly, it _is_. He knows this. Louis takes a deep breath and holds it, trying to calm his shaking, to block out the sound of the failing door.

If he turns his head he knows what he’ll see; a dark, bloody muzzles and yellow teeth snapping through jagged tears in the wood. He doesn’t turn his head.

He moves his fingers, back and forth, pressing firmly, searching, searching. Niall’s lips are still blue and his skin is cold and clammy, but finally Louis feels it. A thready, slow, pulse. But a pulse.

_Oh god._

The door won’t hold much longer, and Louis doesn’t understand why he can’t hear any shouting to accompany the relentless kicks but it doesn’t matter. Quickly he pinches Niall’s nose and breathes into his mouth, _once, twice_. Nothing. _Once, twice_. Liam’s shouting up at him now, _once, twice_.

Niall breathes.

_Yes! Fuck yes! Ok!_

But there’s no time to celebrate, because a dark, sleek body is squeezing its way through the broken door and Louis _isn’t going to fucking die like this._ He jumps to his feet and pulls an unconscious Niall up, struggling with the awkward weight.

 And Louis doesn’t know how he does it, but _somehow,_ he manages to post Niall’s feet through the window and send him tumbling down into the waiting pile of cloth and Liam’s strong arms, and then Louis launches himself out after them as teeth close around his wrist. It hurts, _fuck_ it hurts as the teeth rip through his skin, his own body weight dragging him away more thoroughly than he could himself, and now he’s tumbling out of his coat and into the pile below.

There’s pain. Or at least he thinks there’s pain. And when he looks up he’s wishing with everything he has for the rough prickle of hay and Ed’s ginger face above him, but it’s Liam, frantic with wide eyes pulling him up and away.

His legs aren’t moving as they should as the three of them sprint forwards; Niall thrown over Liam’s shoulder, and Louis doesn’t need to turn to hear the angry barking rush out of the house. They’re gaining on them.

They reach the motorbike with aching lungs and god Louis chest hurts, is he having a heart attack? He isn’t allowed to have a heart attack!

Niall’s stirring awake, and Louis thinks that maybe upside down over Liam’s back might have helped him – sent the blood to his head or something – but his breathing is shallow and his skin is waxy.

Liam pushes him into position, forcing Niall’s leg over the bike until he’s slumped over it, and he’s gesturing for Louis to hop on behind him. But _no._

_No that isn’t ok._

Liam can’t stay here. They have to get them all out. Otherwise what’s the point! _What’s the fucking point!_ And now the anger, and rage and frustration and pain and exhaustion are all bubbling up inside Louis and boiling his blood.

He spins round, eyes wide and bared teeth, and there’s a dog there. There’s a fucking dog, all yellow canines and dripping saliva and blood on its teeth, and Louis _knows_ that it’s the one that bit him, that it’s followed him out of the window ahead of its pack. And it’s jumping at Liam and _fucking no! No! That is not ok!!_

The dog leaps, and Louis leaps with it, barrelling into the side, flinching as feted breath gags him, teeth snapping in his face. He rolls with the dog, and it’s heavy and sinuous and oh so thin. Its coat is matted and greasy and it’s so desperate. Almost as desperate as they are. 

They tumble across the tarmac, the rough surface scraping the skin off of his bare arms, and Louis presses his hand into its throat, trying to hold back those snarling, deadly teeth, but be can’t stop the claws as they rake down his front, tearing rivulets of red into his t-shirt.

_No. No!_

The world stills, tunnelling slowly until there’s nothing but Louis’ thin arms and that strong, snapping jaw, as if the two of them are just waiting. Just playing it out to see who fails first.

There’s a second of stillness in Louis’ head, and maybe it’s better to end like this than the alternative, Louis thinks, as his arms fail.

The weight lifts from him suddenly, and he shakes his head, disorientated. He was done wasn’t he? It had been over—but now Liam’s here, he’s here, and he’s pulling him up and pushing him onto the bike, behind Niall, its engine already roaring.

_What?_

“Louis go! Go!!”

_What?_

And now the rest of the dogs have caught up with them and they leap together, one pack, with one goal.

Sound and sense and feeling swarm over Louis in a violent, stinging rage.

_Liam!_

Adrenaline punches into him, knocking away the numbness, waking him up, bringing him back.

_Fuck! No! Not Liam!_

He kicks off the stand and revs the engine, and he has to do something, he has to save Liam! He turns the bike, dusting off memories of _throttle, break_ , from the time when he’d picked up any and all transportation that might get him home.

His head is screaming, and his eyes are wet and his teeth are bared.

_Not fucking Liam!_

He turns the bike as the pack spring, co-ordinated and deadly, and he revs the engine as they land, mouths open and falling, falling starving and wild onto Liam.

_No!_

The man goes down in a tangle of writhing dark bodies, eyes wide in panic and surprise, and Louis is choking, he’s choking on the scream in his throat, until finally he lets it out with the roar of the bike, surging forwards and scattering the dogs, and he can hear the sound of shouting, the sound of footfalls.

It’d only been a second. They’d only been on him for a second, he thinks hazily, as he stares down at Liam.

Liam, with his big brown eyes, closed and peaceful, with his old black shirt now soaked heavy with the read pouring out of his throat, with his body, still and quiet.

There’s white noise in Louis’ ears, and he can’t move, can’t look away.

But there’s a voice breaking through the fog. “Louis go! Go!” He turns through cloudy eyes and it’s Zayn, and he’s kicking dogs away from the figure on the floor, and Louis _doesn’t understand_ , but Zayn is bending over Liam’s body and shouting at him to _save Niall!_

_Niall._

The man is slumped over the front of the bike, and maybe none of them have made it out alive, he thinks dimly, staring down at his own chest; a red ruin of torn fabric and blood dripping down to meet the teeth marks in his arm as his vision tunnels.

His head is swimming as he kicks off, and Niall is making small choking sounds, and he points his fingers and Louis follows, the dogs take up the chase.


	14. The travellers guide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Just blood I think this time.

Teeth are snapping at Louis’ heels but he daren’t go any faster, not with Niall slumped in front of him. He tightens his grip; his arm is hot and wet from the steady ooze of blood, and his shirt is stuck to Niall’s back where he’s holding the man, his other hand on the throttle.

They _can’t_ make it.

Louis knows this. There’s a metallic taste in the back of his throat, and Niall is minutes away from falling off the bike, and there are sharp teeth catching at the back wheel every time he turns in this labyrinth of a housing estate. The sound of barking resonates in his chest. And he should be cold really, in just his ripped t-shirt and blood-stained jeans, but he’s not, and that doesn’t seem good either.

Louis curves the bike around another corner, barely holding it steady. He’s not strong enough. Liam should be here. Liam should be saving Niall. He should be here.

He doesn’t think about it. Liam’s gone. And now he has to get Niall home, and get Harry and Lux to somewhere safe.

He makes another turn, and another, and he’s been here before! Niall’s stopped directing, and Louis doesn’t even know how much electricity this bike has, so he points it straight down the road and guns the engine.

The dogs fall back as the bike picks up speed, and Louis is going dangerously fast now, weaving shakily around deep cracks in the pavement as house after house rushes past, until finally, _finally,_ they burst out onto the main road.

He feels like crying.

The dogs are gone, and he’s in a place he actually recognizes, and _the van._ Oh god, he knows where the van is! Louis slows them down, not willing to risk turning them over on the broken streets

A side road flies by, and another, and _there! The van!_

He wrenches the bike around, suddenly careless in his excitement, and for a second he even manages to hold it steady, before the front wheel catches and sends them spinning. The two of them are thrown roughly to the ground, gritty tarmac taking even more skin off Louis’ arms and shoulder, and there’s something wet dripping from his forehead, and his fingertips are tingling.

Niall’s groaning to the side, and Louis wishes he could go over there, could check on him. Only Louis can’t move.

As he lies prone on the ground, the crack that tripped them catches his eye, and he’s struck by a sudden, desperate need to laugh.

_Tree root._

His body starts to shake; uncontrollable, violent jerks, as he giggles. Tears join the sticky red that’s running down his cheeks, pooling at the neck of his shirt, colouring it in.

There’s another groan from the blonde man, drawing Louis’ attention, and Louis really needs to stop thinking of him as blonde, because Niall’s hair is matted dark with blood and dirt. Louis’ breath catches. Niall’s smiling blue eyes are screwed tightly shut.

He’s supposed to be getting them out, he reminds himself, rolling over onto his front, trying to tamp down on the hiccupping giggles still shaking his body.

The street is silent, he notes, as he belly crawls towards the Irishman, dragging himself slowly over the rough ground. No dogs, no pursuit. Of course, even the trees are trying to kill them now.

He giggles again, the movement sending sharp stabs of pain through his chest, his stomach.

Niall’s lying on his side as Louis reaches him; somehow miraculously still breathing, and as he leans over, foggy flue eyes open to stare at him. Louis unshoulders his rucksack, suddenly nervous.

“Niall?”

There’s no answer.

“Niall? Can you—Do you understand me?”

An almost imperceptible nod. But it’s better than nothing. It’s great even. Better than Louis expected.

He’s still panting in shallow little breaths, and Louis suspects that he doesn’t really know where he is, but he’s alive, and he’s awake.

“Water?” The man croaks.

 _Oh no._ Niall’s frowning up at him, his hands twitching faintly, and Louis eyes go straight to pale, cracked lips. “You want water? Or _need_ water?”

Louis isn’t sure if the distinction will translate, but he can’t wipe the image of starved, limbless figures still lurching for him, and he _needs_ to know. Needs to understand if Niall is safe or not.

“Water.” The man repeats.

Louis turns to his bag, unzipping it slowly. Cautiously, he draws out his bottle, his eyes darting rapidly from Niall to the water and back.

The man doesn’t move.

Louis uncaps it, tilting the neck towards Niall’s mouth.

A hand darts out, and Louis lets him – watches in fascination as he pours it down his throat. There’s desperation there. Still a frantic need to drink, to drown, but—

_It’s less._

Louis stares as Niall tosses the bottle down, a few small drips still left in the bottom.

_It’s less._

It’s actually less. And there’s—there can’t be a cure. Louis is sure there isn’t a cure. And if there is, then what’s going on here? Why haven’t they been told about it?

It doesn’t make sense.

_Liam was right._

He shakes his head, his eyes itching.

_He’s not better yet._

He’s not better, and they haven’t gotten away, and he doesn’t have any idea of what Niall drank, though the smell of almonds is on the man’s breath now; bitter and strong.

They have to get into the van. He frowns up at it, remembering when he and Liam had found it – the excitement of success, the knowledge that Niall couldn’t be far.

Louis shifts his body, and a nauseating wave of dizziness rolls through him. It’s not good. They need to get moving now, while he still has strength.

“Niall, I need to know how to start the van.”

The man’s eyes are still open, but he’s looking into the distance, face slack and vacant.

“Niall!” Louis tugs at the man’s shirt, going for a rough shake and managing a sort of slumping push. “Niall the van.”

It works though. Niall’s still panting shallow breaths, and he looks so confused, but he gives the faintest of nods. “Under the bonnet, switch—clip.” His voice sounds so lost. Louis’ stomach lurches.

 _We have to get back. We have to warn Harry._ He reminds himself.

Getting to the front of the van is easier said than done, and Louis is thirsty himself – needs fluids to keep his blood pressure up after all the blood loss – but there’s nothing he can do about it now. If he doesn’t get the van working then they’re both going to die.

He drags himself over, fighting a fresh wash of dizziness and black-spotted vision. It takes him far too long to realize that the hood needs to be unlocked from inside the van, but as he pops it open and staggers back, searching fruitlessly for the switch he feels a heavy resolution. They are _not_ going to fucking die here.

“Niall! Where is it?” He calls, heedless of the heavy silence of the empty town. The chase is over now, surely? There’s no sound of dogs, no engines. “Niall!”

“Left.”

 _The left, ok._ Louis searches, and searches, grease and oil mixing with the blood on his shaking hands; his right is weak and twitching sporadically, and there’s still blood slowly seeping from the bite marks. And—there! There! He’s found it! A small round clip with a switch next to it. There’s a bare wire next to it, so Louis twists the clip, securing the wire beneath it, and then flicks the switch.

_Please be right._

He stumbles back round to the driver side door and twists the keys, holding his breath.

There’s a click, and a whirr, and the steady, beautiful hum of an electric engine. Louis swallows thickly.

“Ok. Time to move Niall.”

He ducks down to grab his cargo, and maybe Niall’s feeling a bit better? Or maybe he’s just heartened by the sound of the engine, because together, they get him to his feet and round to the passenger side and buckled in.

They’re going home. They’re actually going to go home. Louis allows himself a second of hot relief before he forces his weak legs to carry himself back around to the driver door, and with a final, shaking pull, Louis drags himself into the front seat.

He’s done it. He doesn’t have to move anymore. They’re going to make it.

It’s overwhelming, and the relief brings the hysteria back up and he giggles again. His vision is swimming, and he isn’t sure of the way, but Niall is sitting next to him and they have a van!

His chest is a soggy red ruin.

His right arm is spasming.

His head is dripping blood into his eyes.

But they have a van.

He leaves his belt undone, and slowly pulls the van onto the road.

\--

Later, Louis thinks, when he looks back – if he’s around to look back – he’s pretty sure that he’ll never understand how they made this journey.

Niall’s breathing is still so shallow, and he’d been less than coherent the last time Louis had tried to get a direction out of him. And Louis’ own body is failing rapidly; though his left arm is still mostly mobile – and he spares a second to be thankful for that, because it means he can still change gears – his right is resting uselessly in his lap, and his feet are becoming less and less responsive.

They’re both shaking and barely conscious as the van finally crunches over the gravel drive of the compound and slows to a stop.

Louis sits there, waiting, listening impatiently to the soft tick ticks of metal settling, anger starting to bubble up in his chest.

It’s so quiet. There are no shouts of recognition, no one ripping the door open. Louis doesn’t know what he’d expected really, but it wasn’t this peaceful, idyllic quiet with the sun slowly dipping between the trees.

Wasn’t anyone looking for them? Why wasn’t Harry keeping watch? They’re half dead, _Liam’s gone._ He’s fucking gone, and there’s no one here!! The itch is back in his throat and he coughs as his eyes prickle.

_Why isn’t there anyone here! Where the fuck is everyone!_

There’s something in the back of his head niggling at him though, and Louis sinks back in defeat, finally unable to move, letting the thought come.

 _Three days_ , he realizes finally. Have they really only been gone for three days? Was it only this morning that they’d cycled over to the hospital, aching and nervous but still strong. Still _alive._

 _Three days._ Harry was going to look for them in five _. He isn’t coming._

A shout starts up – a frantic shout, and there’s movement at last and maybe someone had been watching out for them after all.

He twists his head, still resting heavily in his seat, and there are more shouts now – loud shouts – as the blur moves rapidly towards him.

He thinks he can pick out words, in all the noise. He thinks maybe someone’s calling for help? And _oh_ —of course, they must look a sight. There’s bound to be blood on his face, and scraps of dark, reddish-brown fabric are all that’s left of his shirt. Beside him, Niall’s slumped in his seat and Louis can still pick up the sound of short, shallow, pants, but his skin in tinged blue and the sound is the only evidence that the man’s alive.

And then there’s the van. Louis doesn’t know what it might look like, but his hands are coated in blood and saliva and dirt and oil and it must have rubbed all over the side as he scrambled into his seat.

More dark blurs pour out of the complex, and there’s someone pulling open his door, and Louis thinks that he might be able to hear gasps from around him. Or maybe it’s just his own, shaky breathing?

“Louis?!” _Oh._ It’s Greg. “Louis! Can you hear me? What happened? Louis!”

 _Niall._ He nearly says, but someone else has rushed round the other side of the van and is pulling the man gently out, and there’s more shouting, and Louis doesn’t really know what to do.

He blinks, slowly.

“Louis? Can you say something?”

He frowns. He _could_ probably, but not yet. And he’ll get out of the car. He really will. He just needs a minute.

“Louis!” Louis wishes Greg would go away. But then, that doesn’t really sound like Greg anymore.

“Louis?”

Is it Harry? It sounds like Harry.

“Oh god, Louis!”

Louis’ heard Harry before when he’s been hurt – thinks he might be conditioned to do so – so he opens his eyes, and when had they shut? And Greg’s moved away and is part of the group hovering over an unconscious Niall, and it _is Harry._ It really is.

The man stares at him with wide, green eyes, and his face is ghostly white, and there’s fear in the set of his shoulders, the line of his body. Louis wants to reassure him. Wants to say something. But he’s so tired.

“Louis, it’s ok. You’re going to be ok. We’re gonna take care of you.” And there’s fear in his voice too, and _that won’t do,_ so he tilts his head and forces himself to come back a little, to push away the tiredness and heavy relief that’s dragging him down.

“I’m ok.” His voice cracks, and it probably sounds tired, but it’s strong. “I’m ok. Niall?”

Harry lets out a woosh of air and his shoulders sag. _Good._ ”Louis, how bad are you hurt?” Only his voice is wavering, so it’s not a total success.

Louis thinks about the question, tries to move his muscles. “My arm,” he decides, because there’s pain there. A lot of pain. His chest hurts too, but it’s the old ache of his previous injury, and Louis thinks that one of his ribs might be broken again, but his lungs seem ok.

He takes a deep breath and there’s still blood on his front but he can’t feel the wounds. “My chest. Clawed,” he manages. “Banged my head. I’m ok.”

Harry’s looking at him desperately, and Louis thinks that he might not sound as reassuring as he’s trying to be. “I’m ok. I’m ok.”

A hand reaches out slowly, and Louis feels the gentle press of knuckles at his neck. _Oh. Liam was right then._

His throat burns again, and Louis doesn’t want to cry. Surely he isn’t going to cry. He’s got nothing left to give.

“Louis, what happened?” Harry’s voice is so gentle, and it’s making his body ache again, reminding him of his wounds. Louis focuses his eyes on the ceiling.

“Simon.” He whispers. “Dogs.”

There’s a hush over everything now, and Louis doesn’t know whether the others have taken Niall inside, or if his ears are clogged with blood.

_Please don’t ask._

The wind is blowing on his face, and it’s cold, but his body won’t shiver, and the air smells fresh and clean, and the bright blue sky is finally fading to orange, and they’re finally back. Only they aren’t all back, are they?

_Please don’t ask._

The compound must be holding its breath, because how else could it be so quiet, and Louis can’t look at Harry, because his eyes are prickling still and he _knows._ He _knows_ that Harry has to ask.

“Louis—“

_Please don’t. Please don’t ask._

“Louis, Where’s Liam?”

As the tears start to fall, Louis leans back, and shuts his eyes.

\--

He doesn’t lose consciousness. And that alone tells him that he isn’t as injured as he might be. And it hurts more than the last time, he realizes, as Harry helps him carefully out of the driver door, and that’s good too.

He doesn’t talk. Can’t speak past the crushing yell that’s choking him, so he just shakes his head, and hopes that Harry gets it.

Niall’s in the medical room, on high bed next to the warm stove when they get there, and Reem’s leaning over him checking his pulse, his shallow breathing, setting up the air pump that Louis thinks he maybe recognizes. He shudders, trying to push away the memories of when it was him gasping on that table.

“He’s been poisoned.” She stares over at Louis, her eyes hard and dark, and Louis can see the cracks forming in her professional mask.

He nods.

“Cyanide.”

 _Shit. Cyanide. Almonds._ The connection slots into place. That’s what the smell was. He remembers it. Remembers reading it in some crappy detective novel years ago. Worlds ago. He nods again, and she flinches slightly.

“How was it administered?”

“He drank it.”

“How long ago?”

“A few hours.”

“Ok.” She looks down at Niall and takes a slow, deep breath. “Ok.”

“Can you save him?” Harry’s still supporting Louis, and he feels that low voice vibrate through his side. God his chest hurts. The claw marks down his front are starting to make themselves known now, and he’s still so dizzy, and so very, very, heavy.

Reem shakes her head. “We need to get him on the air pump, but without oxygen…”

“But there must be something? There must be.” The fear in Harry’s voice is so thick it makes Louis’ stomach roll.

She shakes her head, lines of tension creeping in at the corners of her eyes. “Standard treatment is sodium nitrite… dicobalt edetate… We don’t have anything. It’s all chemicals. We can’t make it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t—I’m not a chemist. Maybe something alkaline, for the hypoxia?”

Harry spins, jostling Louis and setting his chest back to oozing. “Greg! Greg!”

It takes a minute, but the man comes running, and he must have been there all along, waiting in the corridors. Louis swallows hard, and he can almost feel the rough hands around his throat.

“Greg get Lou! Niall’s been poisoned, we need an antidote to cyanide and something alkaline!”

“Shit.” The man breathes, but he rushes off without further comment.

Louis breathes a little more easily with him gone. He’s tired of being half dead in this place. Even Harry had tried to kill him. He looks up, and the man has his cold, detached face back on. It makes Louis feel sick.

_It’s just an act._

But Louis doesn’t actually know. He knows Harry was willing to try and kill him, but that he couldn't. He knows that the man leads the compound, and that there _must_ be hard decisions to be made sometimes. Louis might have spent a few weeks around the man, might be starting to rely on him even, but he doesn’t really know him.

He thinks back to the time they’d spent together. Thinks about Harry.

Harry wouldn’t hurt him, he _wouldn’t._ Or at least, not unless he felt he had to. Louis shivers. Harry must have so many hard decisions, and Louis doesn’t want to become one of those hard decisions… But he couldn’t blame him. Wouldn’t blame him if Harry realized that Louis had to go.

 _All I’ve brought is pain_.

Louis would understand. He would. He’s using up their resources. He’s gotten Niall poisoned, his actions have led to Lux being threatened.

He shuts his eyes, and all he can see is Liam’s peaceful face, and he finally lets himself think it.

_I got Liam killed._

There’s a high pitched whine in the air, and Louis thinks it might be him.

“Louis. Louis. Louis you need to sit.” It’s Reem, and Louis thinks she might have been speaking for a while.

Niall’s still panting where he lies, but the air pump is hissing away, and Louis supposes there’s nothing they can do right now but wait.

He moves his legs, finally noticing Harry’s insistent pulling. There’s only the one bed, so Louis lets himself be pushed down into a chair. It’s soft, comfortable, and the heavy blanket of sleep pulls at him again.

Reem offers him a cup of water, and he drinks it gratefully.

“Louis I need you to talk to me.”

“’m tired.” Very tired. He feels like days have passed since he last slept. It makes him queasy, to think that just last night he was tossing and turning awake in a big double bed with Liam.

He shuts his eyes.

“No. Louis no.” Reem chastises him, and she’s kneeling in front of him, only he doesn’t know when she got there. “Louis you need to stay awake for a bit. Tell me what happened to you.”

He doesn’t want to talk about it though. Doesn’t want to think about it.

“Louis please.” Harry this time. It’s always Harry.

He hesitates for a second longer, but he owes it to them. They need to know. “Th’ second compound.” He manages. “Wasn’t there.”

“You couldn’t find it?” Harry’s come forwards now, and is standing behind Reem, listening intently, eyes focused.

“No. We found it. It wasn’t there. No people. So we went t’ the h’spital.”

Reem’s peeling away his shirt, cutting the strips of fabric away.

 _Ouch._ Louis thinks faintly, but he’s mostly numb all over. He feels a bit like he’s on a bouncy castle. Louis remembers bouncy castles. He’d broken his arm on one once.

He looks down, only his arm’s not broken, so probably that wasn’t what had happened.

“What was at the hospital?”

_Oh right._

Reality ebbs and flows, moving like water. _But water kills you_. “We went inside. There were creatures--”

_People. They used to be people._

“Creatures?” She’s pulled away the fabric, and someone must have brought a bucket of water without him noticing because she’s carefully cleaning away the blood and dirt and gravel from his wounds.

When he looks down his arm’s already been cleaned. He’s losing time somewhere.

“Louis, focus.”

“People. Succumbed. Dying. They attacked us. Bit Liam.”

“They bit you?” She looks confused. Louis wants to tell her it’s ok. Things are confusing. But the desire melts away.

A needle comes out, and Louis still isn’t feeling much of anything, and he’s suddenly thirsty. _The water._ She’d given him something to drink hadn’t she…?

But the thought’s gone again, and it’s so hard to hang on to things, so Louis doesn’t try.

“Louis? Why did they bite Liam?” Harry’s leaning over him, and his eyes are really pretty. Louis tries to hold his hand up to them, but it won’t move. He looks down in confusion, and Reem’s carefully drawing a black thread through his skin.

Harry grabs his chin, forcing his head up. “Louis?”

“Blood.”

Someone’s breath catches, and Louis looks down to find Reem staring at him, wide eyed and pale.

Harry’s shaking his head in confusion. “I don’t understand--?”

“The water.” She looks tense. Louis should offer her some of the water he drank. He cranes his head around searching for more; he wouldn’t mind some more himself… “Blood’s 92% water. If you were desperate enough…”

There’s a long pause, and Louis shifts. She’s moved on to his chest now, and it’s starting to tingle, and when he blinks, the world is slowly starting to lose its grey edges.

It’s Reem who breaks it. “Keep going Louis.”

He can feel the pull now. The slight tug of skin with every drag of the needle and it’s making him feel sick. “Zayn saved us, took us to Niall—ah-”

 _Shit_ , the sensations are getting stronger; the sharp sting and sandpaper on skin, the rough cotton dragging through flesh. It’s not right. It doesn’t feel right, to have cotton on the inside.

“And they’d poisoned Niall?”

“No… No. He was in a room full of—They were trying to get to him. In the middle. Zayn said it was an experiment… Adrenaline. Simon made him succumb—I don’t—Aahh-!”

“It’s ok. It’s ok. You’re nearly there.” Harry gentles, and there’s a large, warm hand running through his tangled hair. “Did he tell you anything else?”

 _No._ He wants to say, but he doesn’t think he can talk anymore. His chest and arm are starting to burn, and the back of his throat is thick, and he doesn’t know if it’s bile or just an endless scream building up. He shakes his head.

The silence is starting to stretch out again, and when he looks over, Reem has her eyes shut and her head bowed. Her cheerful yellow and white headscarf contrasting strongly with the mood. In the background, he can still hear the monotonous hiss of the air pump, but Niall’s arms are twitching occasionally, so he’s alive at least.

“Reem?” Harry’s voice is quiet, but it carries.

She shakes her head. “ _Toxoplasma lemmini_ —Do you understand what it does?”

“It makes you drown yourself.” Harry says it matter of fact, but it still makes Louis’ head spin. _So many people._

“But do you understand what it _does_. What happens in the body?”

“I—No.”

 _How are we supposed to know that?_ The burn in his chest is getting stronger, and Louis suddenly wants to snap at her to get on with it. They aren’t doctors, how the hell are they supposed to know?

Harry’s leaning towards her with his brow furrowed though, and Louis will trust him to ask the questions for now.

“It gets into the brain and forms cycsts.” She says, finally lifting her head to face the long haired man.

“So Simon made that happen in Niall?”

“No. ” She shakes her head. “Niall already has them. We all do.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s everywhere, like the news used to say. We’ve all got it. For some people, it overwhelms them immediately. For others,” she gestures at the three of them, “they survive the initial infection – don’t even notice it’s happening – and it forms these cycsts in the brain. Then the immune system just mops up anything that escapes.”

“But we still succumb.” And Harry’s frown reassures Louis, because he doesn’t understand either.

“It’s the immune system. Or—part of it. We don’t know why, really, but the last I heard it was because of the immune system. It gets overwhelmed, and then the parasite just replicates out of control. I think it has to do with the soil. Some places are safer than others.”

She’s reaching up now, taking her sponge and mopping the blood off his face, checking his eyes. It reminds him of his mother – no matter how badly he was hurt, somehow she just switched on that professional face and dealt with it.

The thought hurts, and Louis’ head hurts, and he still doesn’t understand.

 _Some places are safer than others_ though, that thought is something he’s had before. He knew when he was traveling – almost instinctually – when to move on. When it was clear that a place only held death.

Reem continues her ministrations. “We’re taking it on all the time, from the soil and the water. It’s always in the body, waiting until the immune system can’t keep up – and when the body fails it replicates, sits on the hypothalamus.”

Harry shakes his head.

“In the brain. It’s the part that deals with dehydration, sweating, homeostasis.”

 _So we’re all infected then? All the time?_ The thought should be more alarming to Louis, but he feels like somehow he knew that. Somewhere in his body he knew that.

“So it gets into the hypothallal—the part that controls thirst and then your body can’t fight it off?”

“It gets into the hypothalamus _when_ your body can’t fight it off anymore, and then it replicates and overwhelms you.”

“So Simon stopped his immune system?” Harry sounds frustrated, trying to understand, and Louis can’t blame him.

“No.” But Reem’s still patient and slow in her explanations. “He probably jut gave him high doses of the parasite.”

 _Where would he get it?_ Louis almost asks, but then he remembers the countless bodies on tables, all struggling to get free. _It replicates in waterlogged human corpses,_ he remembers from the news, so long ago. And now he _doesn’t want to know_ how Simon got it _._

“So he dosed Niall and then what?”

“I don’t—Louis you said something about adrenaline? Something about a room…?”

Louis swallows a few times to loosen his throat, but it comes out a strangled croak all the same. “He was locked in—Surrounded by creatures. They were trying to get—trying to—blood?”

Reem and Harry are both frowning, but Louis doesn’t think he can do any better. Whatever drink they gave him must be completely worn off by now and it _hurts._

“A room full of creatures… the succumbed?” Reem asks slowly.

Louis nods, focusing on the clunk, clunk, hiss of the air pump.

“They locked him in a room full of people trying to tear him apart?” Harry sounds horrified, and Louis wants to laugh because _you didn’t have to see it._ He nods again. “But—how did he survive?”

_He didn’t._

“They were chained down.” Louis manages instead.

“Adrenaline.” Reem finishes mopping him up and leans down the side of the arm chair, coming back with a thick blanket that she drapes over Louis’ shaking shoulders. He’s not cold though. “It produces IL-1 beta, it’s a cytokine--”

Louis is starting to feel angry again. He doesn’t understand this! How the hell is he supposed to understand this!

“Reem.” Harry stops her with a hand on her shoulder. “Simpler?”

“Sorry.” She shakes her head and puffs out a slow breath. “Sorry. Adrenaline tells your body to make chemicals that bind to the hypothalamus – the brain, it gets in the way of the parasite. There was a theory – early on – that if you had enough stress hormones in your blood it might stop the parasite for long enough for your immune system to catch up. It sort of, gets in the way, sits there so that the parasite can’t do anything to you.”

“Only it doesn’t work.” Harry whispers, and he’s staring wide eyed at Niall and Louis suddenly realizes that they don’t know that he was getting better. He should tell them. He should, once his voice is working again.

“No. It does.” Reem hesitates. “For a little while, only not for long. Simon must have been testing how long he could last. The problem is, you can’t stay stressed for that long. The body can’t take it, eventually the adrenaline has to stop.”

 _And it had._ Louis realizes, and he can’t wipe the picture of a stock-still Niall, pale and trembling in the middle of that room.

“I still don’t understand the cyanide though?” She asks, and she’s looking over at Louis and Louis _doesn’t have the answer._

“I don’t--” His voice is a little stronger now, but his body still feels like it’s been through a mincer. Or possibly just like it’s been mauled by hungry dogs. “Zayn gave it to him— It worked. It—he was getting better.”

“It killed the parasite?” Her eyes are wide with surprise, and Louis would be ecstatic that maybe they have a cure, but what good is a cure that kills you?

He nods anyway.

“The cyanide kills the parasite.” She whispers, and Louis still doesn’t understand, because he thinks he can hear hope in her voice, and Louis doesn’t understand hope. “Enough for the body to start fighting back.” She finishes.

_Maybe. But it still kills you._

“Then he could be ok? If we can cure the poison he’ll be ok?” Harry sounds desperate, and you would be, Louis thinks, if your entire world consists of only sixty-something people.

It’s easier for Louis. His world consists of no people.

 _Liam maybe._ But Liam’s dead. And maybe Harry too, but Harry’ll be fine, him and Lux.

“Maybe.” Reem whispers.

They’re still for a few minutes, the pump clunking away, and Niall twitching occasionally. Louis shifts and he can feel blood trickling down his back and he suddenly remembers the gravel ripping through his shoulder from the bike fall. He leaves it though. He would have to sit forwards to do something about it, and his chest really can’t handle that.

Harry’s resting the back of his hand on Louis’ shoulder, and it might be comforting if it wasn’t shaking.

 _I need to leave here._ Louis realizes suddenly. Harry’s _shaking._ Niall’s dying, Liam’s _dead._ And Louis—Louis caused all this.

_I need to leave._

And his thoughts are still spinning as two people come crashing through the door; one he recognizes as Jess, Jess who was convinced he couldn’t remember English… and the other, he thinks back to those first few days, to staring up at faces after he’d been pushed off the roof. _Lou_. _Hair care._ Or no… apparently, _chemist._

They stop in the room, panting, and they’re staring at where Niall struggles to breathe.

_This is my fault._

“It’s—we brought…” Jess stammers. Louis wishes she would leave.

_It’s my fault._

“Honey.” Lou manages, and maybe it makes sense, that their hairdresser is also their chemist, in a weird way? Because so many things are so much more difficult now – washing hair, toothpaste, cleaning… “And natron water… Sodium bicarb, it’s alkaline, mineral water, take it!”

 _Mineral water. Honey._ His head is heavy and confused. They’re going to cure him with mineral water and honey? _What?_

Reem looks confused too, but she takes the bottle that’s being held out to her. “Honey?”

It’s Jess who nods, and she’s recovering, Louis thinks, going into professional mode, just like the rest of them. “It was—I --” she swallows. “I was a history teacher, before all this. There was a legend… Rasputin? He survived cyanide because of honey?” She shakes her head. “We asked everyone, there’s nothing else--”

Reem nods beckons them over, and together they manage to prop Niall, up, and _oh._ He’s awake. Has he been awake this entire time? Panting desperately whilst Louis re-lived all the trouble he’s caused?

They pull the pump off quickly, and those rasping pants scrape through Louis’ skull.

_It’s my fault._

But he’s still alive for now, and he drinks the mixture readily, but not desperately, and it _must_ have worked. It really much have. _Please survive. Please._

Niall’s quiet again; once the pump’s back on and they’ve lowered him back down, and the five of them stand perfectly still with him, waiting.

They don’t have to wait long.

With a sudden shout, Niall starts thrashing on the bed, and Jess and Lou run to help Harry, trying to hold him down, but…

“No! No!” Reem shouts, “don’t hold him, you’ll hurt him. Make sure he doesn’t fall off, keep him safe. Don’t pin him!”

The spasming is getting stronger, and Niall’s face is screwed up in pain, his breathing coming in gurgling, stuttering bursts, and Louis must be standing now, but he doesn’t remember when it happened.

_What have we done?_

And it’s all happening at once, because as Niall’s convulsions abruptly cut off, Zayn comes barreling through the door, bloodstained and panting.

He stares at their flushed, panicked faces and rushes over to Niall, looking down in horror. “What did you give him!? What did you do!!?”

And Louis can’t take that. Can’t handle any more blame. “You did this! You gave him fucking cyanide! He wanted to die! I could have done it! I could have done it. And it would have been fast and easy, and he wouldn’t be lying there choking!”

Zayn is shaking his head, eyes wide. “It shouldn’t have done this. It was measured. It shouldn’t—What did you give him?!”

Reem’s compressing Niall’s chest while the steady hiss of the air pump works behind them so Louis takes an angry step forwards. “Nothing! Nothing! Just honey and fucking mineral water!”

“You gave him fucking honey!? You--”

“Out!” Reem bellows at the shaking pair, and Harry’s pulling them both from the room, his hands shaking. “Get out of my surgery!”

He’s dragged, twitching and so, so angry from the room, and he can feel the bleeding starting up again where the stitches have ripped and his heart is stealing the blood from his head, making his vision swim and Zayn’s still bellowing at him.

“…you can’t give him fucking honey, you’ve killed him! You’ve killed him!”

 _You’ve killed him._ Louis hears it in his bones. The fight rushes out of him, leaving a cold, hollow pit of despair. _You’ve killed him._

“Zayn stop! Stop!” It’s Harry, and god, Louis has never seen him so angry. His eyes are burning and his fists are clenched. “Stop!”

Zayn takes a steadying breath of cold air, and they’re outside now, and Louis doesn’t really know how they got there, doesn’t remember the run through the corridors, and he’s bare chested but he still isn’t feeling the cold.

“It doesn’t matter anyway.” And there’s a note of mocking in the man’s voice that makes Louis’ stomach turn, and he _still_ can’t decide whose side Zayn is on.

“It’s too late. They’re coming here.” He continues. “Simon’s army. They’re bringing men, dogs, weapons. They’re going to wipe you out.”

There’s silence. _What._ Louis doesn’t understand.

“Zayn… what?” Harry whispers it so quietly, but it carries somehow.

“You've caused too much trouble, and Simon needs more people for his experiments. They’re on their way here. They’ll take your resources, your people. Lux too.” He adds, almost as an oversight.

_They’re coming._

Harry jumps forwards in alarm, turning away from Louis and stepping into Zayn’s space, and now the two of them are yelling at each other, all angry teeth and wide eyes.

_Like dogs._

And all Louis can see is flashes of his old compound, and deep growls, and silver knives, and blue eyes. They’d come, and they’d taken everyone, raided their stores, their equipment. It had been so fast, and so deadly.

And then he’d come here… and he’d pried until he’d found out Harry’s secret, and he’d tried to run away, he’d angered Simon, and he’d suggested that Niall be the one to go investigate. And he’d gotten Liam killed.

He’s going to be sick. He’s going to be sick.

_You killed him._

His head is spinning and he doesn’t know how he ended up here with these people in this place and this terrible, numbing guilt.

He’s ruined everything. All he’s done since this disgusting world started was to run and run and run. And every time. Every single time he’s stopped still, it’s ended in disaster.

He thinks about Harry, and gorgeous, innocent Lux, about poor Liam and Niall and everyone he owes in this place.

A month ago Louis would have run.

And now so much has happened, and there are people coming after them all and every person is going to count.

But Liam’s dead. And Niall’s probably dead too by now. And Harry has his own priorities.

And they can’t fight this. He’s been here before. He knows what’s about to happen. They don’t need him. They need to be able to trust each other.

So it’s just Louis again. And Louis has always managed to look after himself.

Louis runs.

\--

The sky is dark, and the birds have finally stopped their incessantly cheerful chirping, and the air is colder than Spring has any right to be, and finally, _finally,_ Louis’ body is starting to feel it.

He’s all the way past the tree line before he stops.

It’s all so still again. So quiet. Louis doesn’t know if he can go back to all that endless quiet. If he wants to.

“Louis?”

“Harry.”

The man must have run after him. Louis hugs his arms around his bare torso. He doesn’t know where he’s going.

“Where are you going?” His voice is blank, empty.

Louis almost laughs. “Nowhere.”

He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“Were you running away?” Still empty, and he must be fighting  _so hard_ to keep it that way, because his best friends are dead and their killer is standing right infront of him.

This time Louis does laugh. Sharp and bitter. “Maybe.”

“You won’t help us?”

 _Oh._ So that’s what this is. Harry needs people to help them. People to fight.

He doesn’t need Louis though. All Louis brings is death. “I can’t.”

The cold wind is burrowing into his skin, freezing the blood on his back. His chest is warm though, where the stitches burn.

“You won’t.” There's frustration now, coloring his words, warming them up. It makes Louis feel a little better somehow. More Alive.

Harry isn’t getting it though. He will, Louis knows, but perhaps not yet.

Louis shakes his head. “No, I can’t. You don’t understand Harry. Everything I do is bad. People _die._ Niall… Liam--”

“We _need_ you Louis.”

And he’s _still_ not getting it. “No! You need to run. You need to get Lux away. You can’t fight these people Harry, they’re too strong. And if I’m there… it’ll be worse, Harry. It will.”

“Louis, no. It’s not your fault that these things keep happening. It’s Simon. It’s all Simon. And you’ve seen them before. You know what to do. We need you!” And his voice is almost angry now, bright white and red hot. 

 _To do what?_ “I don’t have the strength to fight Harry.”

The wind blows harder and his knees weaken. _I might not even have the strength to stand._ He realizes, as a shudder goes through him. The pain is fading to numbness again, the cold trickling away, and Louis can’t remember whether that’s a good or a bad thing anymore.

“Louis we need you!” Harry lets out a slow breath and takes a step closer, and Louis can feel the heat seeping off his body. He _must_ be cold then. When he speaks again his voice is quieter. “You don’t have to fight. We need you to help us plan.”

His legs buckle, and an arm catches him around the waist; the two of them sinking to the ground together.

“You have enough people for that.” He grits out, because his body is seized tight with tension, and there doesn’t seem to be anything he can do about it.

Harry’s warm arms snake around his bare middle, and he’s wearing a soft grey jumper, Louis notices suddenly, because it’s the one _he’d_ been wearing, right before he left.

“Louis, we need _you_.” Harry’s pulled him close, and Louis thinks he should be grateful for the warmth even if he can’t really feel it.

“You don’t.” He would shrug, if he could.

“ _I_ need you.”

 _No._ No one needs him. It doesn’t work that way. Louis doesn’t get to keep people. Not anymore.

“Harry, you don’t. I can’t help you. Everyone who comes near me _dies_.”

“No.” And Harry’s curled his legs around him now, wrapping him up against his strong chest. _You’re going to ruin my jumper,_ Louis thinks dimly. “You’re wrong. Louis, you’re wrong. Zayn—He said Liam’s alive.”

 _What._ “What?” He whispers, because that doesn’t make sense. Louis saw him… he saw the blood.

But Harry pulls him impossibly closer, tucking his nose into Louis’ neck, and Louis doesn’t know who he’s trying to comfort anymore. “He’s still alive. Zayn said so.” And his voice is so small it's making his throat burn.

 _What._ And Louis doesn’t know if they can trust Zayn. But he _wants_ Liam to be alive. God he wants that. _Please._

Harry’s hair is soft against his cheek, and he’s _hurting_ Louis, gripping too tightly and forcing the blood out from between his stitches. But Louis wouldn’t move him for anything. “He’s alive.” Harry continues. “Simon has him, but we’re going to get him back.”

 _Oh god, please not again._ He can’t deal with this; _he can’t go back there_. But… Liam’s not dead. Which means that Louis hasn’t killed him. Not yet.

There’s a hand in his hair, and the pressure around his middle abruptly lessens with the faintest ‘ _shit’_ from Harry. His other hand moves down, resting on Louis’ uninjured tummy.“Louis please. Please don’t go.”

Louis shudders, finally letting some of the tension out of his shoulders.

_Liam’s not dead yet. We can get him back._

He hasn’t killed anyone yet.

 _Niall._ A faint voice in his head calls. But he doesn’t know that. He can’t know that, unless he goes back inside. Back with Harry.

And Harry needs him.

“Ok.” He agrees finally, and it’s just a whisper, but the word is out there.

“Ok?” The hand on his hair freezes, and Harry’s body sags behind him. “Ok… Ok.”

Something wet trickles down his neck, and Louis wonders if maybe he finally gets it. Because they’ve all lost so much already. So much that none of them can get their heads around it. And the thought of loosing anything else makes Louis want to crawl into the deepest part of the forest and not come out until the world is _back like it's supposed to be_. And maybe that's exactly what he'd done, he realizes suddenly.

So if he’s somehow wormed his way into the list of things that Harry doesn’t want to loose…

Well then, it’s up to him to make sure it doesn’t happen. “Ok.” He says firmly, leaning back. “Ok.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to wikipedia, Natron (natural mineral deposits containing Nahcolite - natural form of sodium bicarbonate or baking soda) is found in Cornwall. These guys aren't in Cornwall (roads and places in this are all real), but the 1805 English Travelers guide (a great read if you don't mind a bit of old english) says that you can get Natron waters in kent and bath and other spring water places. It's maybe a little tricky but not inconceivable. 
> 
> Medical explanations and sources will be in the notes of the next chapter.


	15. I don't know, it's just something about ya

The walk back to the compound is all fuzzy around the edges, and there’s an ache in Louis’ upper arm where Harry’s gripping it too tightly, but he doesn't ask him to let go.

The last traces of pink and orange sky are fading out to a muted black, but the air is clear and the moon should be up soon. There's no one else around, which makes no sense to Louis; shouldn't they be going back to the village, returning to their rooms, heading into the kitchens?

Harry is silent, presumably deep in thought. He won't have much time to work out what they're going to do; Liam and Louis had taken two days to get to the first compound, and from there it was only a few miles to the hospital. So… _not long at all._

“Harry--” The quiet is killing him, and it’s weird, because Louis used to go weeks at a time without speaking, had spent an entire year without company.

Harry says nothing, but his grip gets tighter. A faint whimper escapes Louis’ mouth and the hand loosens immediately with a gentle _sorry, sorry,_ that makes Louis’ stomach twinge.

He lets himself be guided into the main compound building, and he’s pretty proud of himself really, because he doesn’t run when he realises that Harry’s pulling him back towards the surgery. He does close his eyes though.

Its turn, turn, stop, and Louis is still refusing to look, but he can’t stop himself from hearing. There’s a loud exhale from Harry, and the steadily hiss of the air pumping is still going, and there’s the sound of boots shuffling on the floor. Harry pulls him closer into his side, still lightly holding his arm, and Louis tries not to think about that too much.

“You couldn’t manage to keep your stitches together for five minutes?” Reem sounds tired, but her voice isn’t broken, or cracked, or hopeless. Louis doesn’t want to think that things might be ok. Doesn’t want to learn that they aren’t.

But he has to know.

He opens his eyes, hesitantly, uneasily, and there’s the bed, same as before, and the dirty cream air pump, and-- Niall. Niall’s there, and his skin is grey, and his body is still, but the mask is fitted firmly over his nose and mouth and the machine is working and—his finger twitched. Just the faintest movement but—

Louis’ eyes are wide and he’s too dizzy to stand, but Harry guides him down into the soft armchair.

_Niall’s alive._

Just barely, he thinks, but he’s alive. And somehow, Niall has become inexplicably tied in Louis’ head to the outcome of all this. Because if Niall can survive – if Niall can _recover –_ then there’s hope. And Louis has lived five years in a world without hope, and he doesn’t know if he could cope with the change, but he wants to try.

The room seems bigger than before, and now that Louis looks around he can see that Lou and Jess have gone, and it’s just Reem, and Harry, and him. _And Niall._ His eyes go back to the prone figure.

Niall’s finger twitches again, and Louis pushes away a stab of fear, remembering creatures and biting and tearing and blood. _He’s better now._

Zayn’s nowhere in sight, but Louis knows he needs to keep his eyes open. _Zayn, Greg…_ it’s not safe here. Not for him. And if Niall should die--

“Louis? Louis?” He blinks when Harry calls his name, shaking off the thoughts, wondering how much he’s missed this time.

He needs to be careful is all, but there’s no point in working himself up over something that hasn’t happened yet. Instead he turns back to Niall. “Is he--?” He can’t voice it, but they seem to understand.

“He’s stable.” Reem says, and she’s staring at Niall, and when Louis focuses he thinks he can see a continuous tremor running through the man.

“Louis.” Reem’s hand prods his arm and he jumps, not expecting the sudden closeness.

She’s knelt in front of him, and there’s another cup of liquid being offered that Louis _knows_ isn’t water. He takes it anyway, swallowing the contents quickly. It’s sweeter than water. He really should have noticed before.

“What happened?” He nods at Niall, desperate for a distraction, because the bucket and sponge are back and there’s bound to be a needle and thread somewhere, and _fuck you Zayn,_ for getting him wound up enough to rip his stitches.

He can feel the medicine kicking in this time, and doesn’t try to fight the feeling of floaty detachment as it sweeps him away.

“Simon’s been making an antidote out of crushed apple pips.” Harry’s gravelly voice is coming from behind him, and maybe Louis can feel a careful hand in his hair, but he isn’t sure.

_Oh._ It doesn’t really mean much to him, and _apples, really?_ The world ends and the cure turns out to be _apples_?

Reem picks up the story, and it occurs to him that he must have been drifting long enough for Harry to have already heard this, which is a little worrying. She shakes her head. “Not quite. Simon’s been making cyanide from amygdalin. It’s inside the apple pips. It gets converted to hydrogen cyanide when it gets wet. He must have worked out that the parasite could be killed that way.” She stills. “Cyanide kills a lot of things, it’s not really surprising. I suppose no one was desperate enough to really try it before, and you’d need to be at the very start of succumbing, and you’d need to get the dosage right.”

Reem shuts her eyes for a minute and Louis focuses on her long dark eyelashes, trying his best to let the medicine carry him away, to ignore the rough pull of the needle when it starts back up again.

“Anyway,” she shakes herself, tugging the thread through one last time before tying it off, and Louis blinks, and the sponge is back, taking away the blood. He can feel a hot, throbbing burn in his chest fading in, and he really isn’t ready for the pain to come back. “Zayn says that amygdalin reacts with glucose to make hydrogen cyanide.”

_And we gave him honey._

He gets it now, but she keeps explaining. “All the glucose in the honey we gave him sped everything up so his body was flooded with cyanide and his heart stopped.”

_His heart stopped._ Louis stares at the ceiling as she backs away, wondering briefly why everyone always chooses to tell him things when he’s too injured to really process them.

They’d made it worse then. That much is clear. Everything he did seemed to make things worse. Niall might have been ok if he’d not brought him back here.

“Louis, he’s going to--” There’s a tug at his hair, and it _is_ Harry’s hand. Another twinge of something warm goes through his chest, but it’s swamped by the angry hot itch radiating out from the stitches. “I mean, he’s got a good chance Reem, right?”

Reem hesitates again, but nods at them. “I’m going to wait a few hours and then start the honey and water treatment again. We just need to wait until the amygdalin’s gone through.”

Louis blinks. He wonders if they’re expecting him to say something? He wonders what he would say? The quiet seems to stretch on and on, and Harry’s hand has tightened in his hair, pulling gently.

He’s expecting it, when Harry speaks. “I have to tell everyone.” The man whispers, breaking the peace.

Louis sags, and there’s something tightening his throat that he isn’t going to admit is disappointment. _Of course you do._

Louis gets it. He tries to brush away the sting of betrayal, because how can they prepare for anything if people don’t know the whole story? But it still hurts somehow.

It’s pretty clear what’s going to happen after all; Harry will tell everyone about the mess that Louis has caused, and they’ll come for him. _It’s for Lux._ He reminds himself.

“First thing?” Louis asks. They really can’t delay. He can spend the night planning with Harry, preparing himself, and then tomorrow it won’t matter if they turn on him, if something happens. He can make sure that Harry has all his suggestions, all his plans tonight. He can even say bye to Lux maybe.

Harry goes back to stroking his hair, dragging it gently, and Louis suddenly realises that he’s untangling it, pulling out bits of twigs and gravel and matted blood. _Huh._ “No.” Harry shakes his head, and it takes a minute to remember what they were talking about, but when he does Louis’ insides seize. _Not first thing._ But it _has_ to be first thing. They can’t afford to delay. Memories of frantic barking mixed with panicked screams hit Louis. They _can’t_ afford to delay. “No, I’m telling them tonight.” Harry finishes.

Louis shakes his head in confusion. Harry’s just going to go drag everyone out of their houses? It’s night. It’s _dark._

He spares a thought to the disgust his pre-apocalypse self would feel with that statement, but this isn’t the world he grew up in, and it really isn’t safe to go running around after dark. What if you fall? What if you’re attacked?

“It’s Friday Lou. I don’t know if you realised--?” He hadn’t. “The meeting was just wrapping up when you arrived. Everyone decided to stay a bit longer to get the news.”

Every sentence is only helping Louis be more confused. “You told them we’d left?”

“I told them Niall was missing and Liam was going to look for him, remember?” _Oh right._ Louis thinks he might remember that. “But when people saw you and Niall show up…” Harry shrugs. “It’s for the best. They need an explanation.”

_They’re going to kill me._

Louis squares his shoulders. They’ll need to talk strategy now then – in case someone comes for him during the night.

“Actually, you should probably go, they’ve been waiting for too long already.” Reem interjects, and Louis had honestly forgotten she was there.

He frowns at that. Surely they can wait a little longer? It’s more important that they prepare. “Wait--” His voice is tight, but clear.

“No, she’s right Louis, I have to go.” The warm hands leave his hair, and Louis feels the cold right through his body.

“But--” _We need to plan._

Harry’s voice softens. “It’s ok Lou, Reem will still be here.”

_That’s not it._ Louis turns his head to watch the woman in question walk briskly out the door.

The corner of Harry’s mouth ticks up. “She’ll be back in a minute. Just stay here for a bit ok? I’ll be back soon.”

“But--”

“Louis.” Harry’s already at the door. “Rest.”

Louis sags and looks around himself. How many hours has he spent in this room? And now he’s going to sit here whilst Harry stirs up a mob to come for him. He snorts quietly. He should be more worried, probably, but somehow he can’t rouse the emotions.

He waits blankly for a minute or two, until Reem comes back in and hands him a mug, and this time the taste is slightly bitter, and instead of floating up it makes him sink, down, down. So he lets his eyes close as the coils of tension in his body slowly start to unwind, and he watches himself drift, from far away, carried out on the clank, clank hiss of the air pump.

\--

He fades back in to a large pink face in his field of vision, _Ed?_ The man’s kneeling in front of him with a creased forehead and a plate of green mush and that shock of red hair. _He’s a goof chef,_ Louis thinks dimly, his mind a little heavy around the edges. _He looks sad._

Niall’s unmoved on the bed across the room, still panting awkwardly and looking like death, so perhaps that’s what the frown is for? _Someone should be sitting with him. What if he’s awake?_

“Hey Louis, how you feeling?”

Louis gives a noncommittal hum. He’d liked Ed, he remembers, but he’s not seen any of these people since he’d tried to escape.

_No. That’s not right._ He remembers suddenly, he had seen these people; Ed, in the kitchen when he was gathering food for Harry, and Lou and maybe Nick was it? He shudders, remembering the conversation. _Barely human,_ they’d said. But they’d been wrong. He’d been _too_ human. Made too many mistakes and now they were all fucked.

He looks at Ed cautiously. “How long have I been here?” He keeps his voice low and slow.

“Ah Louis man, you sound so much better! It’s only been a few hours; the meeting’s all broke up though. Harry told us everything.”

_Everything. Oh shit._ Louis pulls himself up and waits for pain to hit him, but his body just feels tight, like someone’s twisted his skin until it’s stretched thin over his bones, and _everything_ aches, and his stomach is in knots. So maybe pain, he concedes, but it’s not sharp. It’s not angry.

He waits for something to happen, his body poised and taught, but Ed doesn’t look angry – isn’t baring his teeth or glaring, and his body seems relaxed – a little tense maybe, but it’s more flight than fight.

“Everything?” Louis nudges, because he can’t stand the waiting. If he remembers correctly, these people aren’t particularly subtle. He’s bound to find out something if he asks the right questions. His stomach rolls.

Ed sighs heavily, and he looks older, Louis thinks, older than before. “Everyone’s super angry.” _No._ Louis’ body tenses with another wash of adrenaline, and _there’s_ the pain, radiating out from his chest, chasing down to his fingertips, shooting daggers at his waist. He wonders if Ed’s going to kill him now; wonders how he’ll do it? Poison maybe. He’s a chef after all. Or perhaps he’ll choke him? That seems to be a popular method.

There’s a pause that must last minutes, but Louis is too keyed up to count it. Maybe he should run again? But then, when has that _ever_ worked out for him? Ed interrupts his thoughts, sending them shattering, like spinning shards of glass across the ground. “Simon’s been taking our supplies for years, and everyone’s lost someone here to the second compound—when we thought it was a better farm it was ok. They send letters and stuff but now—Zayn says that Simon’s been writing the letters. That he’s been experimenting on them. He won’t give us any details though.”

Louis takes a sharp breath and white hot lines of pain fire through his body. _They’re angry at Simon._ Is the first thing that crosses his mind, before the rest of Ed’s sentence catches up to him.

_Oh god._

_Everyone’s lost someone to the second compound… they send letters._

It hits him suddenly, and it hits him hard, and he feels like he’s been having the same revelation over and over and it never gets any easier.

_They used to be people._

Louis falls forwards, his stitches pulling tight and bile chasing up his throat. _They used to be our people._ And it’s a combination probably, because there’s a hollow relief emptying his gut that they aren’t blaming him, but it’s rolling and twisting alongside the rotting skin and burnt edges and limbless monsters that _used to live here,_ they used to be like these people, they _were_ these people. And he can’t stop picturing it now – these people – Harry, chained and skeletal and screaming, and Niall, staggering forwards with his arms torn off and Liam, blind, burst eyeballs and a wide, bloody mouth and Lux… little Lux… And the desperate pounding ache in his body is tying it all up nicely into a writhing, unendurable sickness.

_This has been a long time coming._ He thinks dimly, as his vision wavers.

He’s silent as he drops his head between his knees, and he can’t fight the rolling of his stomach anymore.

Louis retches.

He heaves and heaves, tears cutting through the grime and blood on his cheeks and there are specks of red in the water and acid that comes out.

Time is skittering along, but Louis has no measure of it, and when he’s finally done he drops his chest onto his knees, weak and trembling.

He can’t do this. How are _any_ of them still doing this?

He blinks angrily.

He’s _hungry_ , and tired, and thirsty, and Liam’s probably being tortured and Niall’s still twitching on the table, and those people _used to live here,_ and he just—Louis rests his cheek on his knee, miserable and hurting. He just _doesn’t feel very well._

“Shit. It’s ok mate. It’s going to be ok.” There’s a hand cautiously patting his bare back, and Louis is dizzy and confused and he feels like there are pieces inside of him tearing, and he’s grateful for the man’s kindness, he really, really is, but he needs familiarity right now.

_Harry._ His treacherous brain supplies.

“Louis, shh. I’m sorry man. I forgot you’d seen them. It must have been horrible. And now they’ve got Liam, but it’s going to be ok you know? We’re going to fight them and then we’re getting everyone back. There’s a cure now you know? We can fix this.”

The words tear like ice through his skin. _No. Please no._

What had Harry been telling them?? Did they really believe—did _Harry_ really believe that they could save these people? Hadn’t Reem told him that they had to be _recently_ succumbed? Hadn’t he told them about the breeding?? No wait—he couldn’t have, Louis hadn’t—he hadn’t said anything about that.

What had he told them? Louis racks his brain, but it’s all jumbled. But _Zayn_ ’s here. He’s here, isn’t he? Why hasn’t he told them? What’s going on?

Louis can feel the anger, bubbling, bursting up, and there’s a low, rumbling growl that Louis thinks might be coming from him.

It’s too much, it’s too much and his stitches are pulling and it’s all falling apart. It is. Because he’d allowed himself to get attached to these people. To feel responsible.

Louis rears up, his eyes wide, and Ed has taken a step back and is half crouched. _Ready to run._ He’s scaring him. Louis is scaring him. Louis is half fucking dead. How the fuck does Louis have the ability to scare anyone anymore?? He bares his teeth and he tastes blood and he’s angry at everything! He’s angry at Niall, who got himself captured, at Liam, who jumped into a pack of dogs for him and threw his fucking life away, at Nick, who said he was barely human, at Ed, for standing there looking like fear is a new sensation when Louis is _always_ fucking afraid, he’s angry at Harry—

“Louis?”

He blinks, and he doesn’t know what his face is doing, or why his body is rocking, or where the high pitched whining is coming from.

“Oh Louis. Oh love, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” And Harry’s there, and he’s wrapping him up in his big arms, and there’s still blood on his grey jumper and Louis is still angry, but it’s burning now, burning hot like pain. But Harry’s muttering platitudes and Ed’s gone, and he’s never heard the man’s voice so gentle, at least, not directed at him.

He tries to curl over on himself, to duck his head and hide but Harry isn’t having it, and the bigger man hefts him securely in his arms, sliding in behind him and pulling Louis tightly against his chest. And there’s a moment when Louis thinks of struggling, feels an echo of those big hands wrapped around his throat, but it’s replaced with memories of being cared for, of gentle movements and muttered kindness—

And so finally, cautiously, Louis gives in, and burrows his face into a firm, warm chest, and lets himself be comforted.

\--

Time passes again, and Louis wonders where his watch is, because he used to have one before all this. Harry probably knows. But Harry seems to be asleep.

Louis is getting better at this, he thinks, accepting contact. He still can’t quite relax in someone else’s arms, but his breathing is normal and his heart isn’t trying to escape. He might never be fully comfortable again with someone at his back, but he could be the big spoon maybe.

He shifts slightly. It’s almost nice – warm.

“Harry?” He breathes into the quiet, gently nudging the man’s arm. He’s feeling a little stronger now, and Louis has learned to take advantage of moments of strength. He might not me so able in an hour, in two. “Harry?”

The man makes a small snuffling noise and the arm around his waist tightens. “Lou?”

_Lou._ His stomach does a little twist. He ignores it.“Harry? We need to get back to your rooms. Lux--”

“’s with Zayn.”

_Oh._

Zayn, of course.

Harry stretches as much as he’s able and Louis considers standing up for a moment, but he doesn’t have the heart just yet. Harry’s soft and sleep-warm, and Louis feels closer to safe than he’s been in a very long while.

The bigger man clears his throat and looks down at the floor. “You should eat.” He nods towards the plate of cold mush that Ed must have left. “Eat and then we’ll get you cleaned up and then to bed ok?”

_Bed._ The thought of it makes his eyes prickle. God it feels like far too long since he’s slept. He shakes his head. “We have to plan.”

“Tomorrow Lou.” Harry squeezes him again, and Louis feels a tiny jolt at the contact. “We can’t do much without the light, and everyone needs rest. You especially.”

“But--”

“No.” A thin seam of ice raises through Harry’s voice and Louis stills. It’s funny really how different Harry can be. Louis sometimes feels like there’s two of them – cold, stony faced Harry that makes tough decisions, and the warm, sensitive Harry who only comes out around little Lux, or when Louis is too injured to really notice.

_I mustn’t be that hurt then._ He muses.

He nods, sending his weight forwards, and with creaking legs he pushes himself up onto his feet. For a second, gravity gets the better of him and he starts to tumble back, but big hands press up against his upper thigh and lower back as Harry rights him.

When he turns round there’s a frown on the man’s face and he’s not looking back as he heads for the door. “Eat Louis, I’m going to get a few things ready. I’ll be right back.”

And then he’s alone again, and Louis is left staring blankly at where the man had stood. _Leader Harry, man of mystery._ His body is cold now, and he’s not sure if it’s coming from the inside or the outside, but he expects it’s both.

Louis eats. He eats and it’s gross and it’s fucking _apple._ Maybe they really are trying to poison him? He doesn’t start gasping though, and Niall had reacted pretty quickly. He glances over. The blonde – or not so blonde, right now – is still lying on the table, skin a sickly grey and lips purpling, but he’s still breathing at least. Louis hopes he’s unconscious.

Harry comes back before he has time to really worry about it, and there’s a weak smile on his face that Louis is startled to realize he’s actually missed but—something’s not right.

They both take one last look at Niall, Harry taking the man’s hand lightly and squeezing it once, and he’s not looking at Louis when he speaks.

“C’mon Lou, I have a surprise for you.”

\--

Louis is pulled unceremoniously through corridors, and apparently Harry’s forgotten his injuries in his hurry, because when they finally stop he seems surprised to turn and find a shaky, sweating Louis panting fruitlessly.

“Shit. Louis I’m so sorry. I didn’t think.”

Louis wants to reassure Harry, but first he needs to catch his breath and wait for the nausea to stop. He looks around the room and _oh my god._

_Oh my fucking god._

“Harry?” He manages, and his eyes are watering but he thinks he’ll be ok in a bit.

There’s a smile on Harry’s face maybe, but the man still isn’t looking at him, and it’s starting to make Louis nervous. “Yeah Lou. Fancy a nice hot shower?”

Fortunately, Harry has the perfect distraction. _Oh my god._

Louis hasn’t had a proper shower in years. Four years, to be exact.

“I’m gonna—” Harry clears his throat, and Louis looks over just in time to catch his expression harden. When he speaks again his voice is cold. “I’ll have to help you out a bit Louis, Reem said that the hot water might make you light headed and you can’t afford to fall.”

_Help?_ So what, Harry’s going to watch him? Or what, jump in the shower with him? Will he keep his clothes on or is he going to take them off? Is he going to help clean him? Another jolt goes through Louis, and it’s like a half remembered feeling from another world. It’s funny really how things he thought were instinctual had fallen away. Apparently his body had gotten to the point where even the need to continue his species was more energy than it was willing to give.

He nods.

His top half is still bare, and he knows he must look a sight; Reem’s managed to clean him some, but he’s still caked in blood and mud and sweat and grease.

Unfortunately, stripping off is easier said than done. He fumbles the button open at his waist, and even that small motion pulls at the scrapes in his back and _dear god this is going to sting_. And Harry has turned to give him some privacy, obviously thinking he can manage.

He’s underestimating Louis’ wounds.

Louis takes a few seconds to think about his dignity vs. a hot shower.

_No contest._

“Harry?”

The man doesn’t turn around, and his shoulders are hunched and his back is tense. “Do you need help?”

Louis frowns. It doesn’t make sense, Harry being nervous. Where’s the man who casually wiped his arse for him? Something’s not ok, and Louis is starting to need to know what it is.

“Yeah.” He’s quiet, cautious.

Harry doesn’t make eye contact as he ducks down and unlaces Louis’ boots, tugging them gently off his feet and pulling his socks off after. Louis actually feels a little bad about it. He’s been running and walking all day in them, it can’t be that pleasant.

“Harry--” He doesn’t know what to say.

Harry stays on his knees to pull down Louis’ jeans and pants, and then he’s naked, and Harry’s turned away and is pulling off his own jumper and undershirt, and his jeans are gone but he’s leaving his briefs on and _oh._ Louis feels another of those jolts.

He shuts his eyes quickly. He’s _naked,_ and injured, and this is not the time or the place. _Harry tried to kill me._ He reminds himself.

Harry guides them both to the shower, still quiet, still refusing to look at him, and Louis should let it go, he really should. Only… He stops Harry before the man can switch on the water.

The air is cold, and he’s missing his clothes, and the hairs are raised on Harry’s skin down the flat expanse of chest that Louis is decidedly not looking at.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” It’s just a whisper, but it carries.

Harry stares vacantly at a spot behind his ear. “It’s fine Louis, we just need to get you cleaned up.”

He twists on the water, and the cold shock is like splinters down Louis’ spine but Harry holds him firmly under, and reaches behind him to pick a sponge off the shelf.

Louis had actually thought that he might get to wash himself this time, but it looks like his health is once again in the long haired man’s hands. The water heats slowly as Harry drags the sponge down his arms, and Louis was right; it does sting. And actually sting is the wrong word for it, because Louis feels like there are flames licking up his back.

He jerks forwards, away from the spray, and Harry catches him dutifully; an arm slung around his back and they’re chest to chest. “Try to relax.” He murmurs into Louis’ ear, and Harry’s hair is loose and collecting tiny beads of moisture from the spray, and his chest is wet and slippery and hard when Louis pushes himself back.

Harry brings the sponge up, delicately cleaning around the wounds, and Louis focuses on breathing, trying to let himself relax, inch by inch. The water is still warm, and the initial sting is slowly fading to an all-over ache, and once upon a time Louis might have been yelling and cussing and calling for his mother, but he thinks he might be able to endure this for the clean, and the warmth.

_Mmm_. He sighs and drops his head as the sensation fades. The effect of the water is a slow, creeping release, and his head is starting to swim, and it’s as if his body has finally ran out of energy for pain. He’s starting to float.

A tiny spark of sanity fires – he still needs answers.

“Harry.” He tries again, and his voice is only a little bit shaky. “Tell me?”

“It’s nothing Louis.”

“Tell me.”

“Louis it’s nothing.”

“It’s not.” The tiniest twist of satisfaction curls through his body – he once had five little sisters. There’s no way he’s going to lose this game.

Harry still isn’t looking at him, but Louis can feel the shell starting to crack.

“Har’y.” He presses, his voice slurring.

“It’s not—It’s-” Harry hangs his head and gropes behind Louis blindly, pulling out a jar of murky cream coloured paste. He scoops some out into his palm and reaches up, threading his hands through Louis’ hair, pulling his head up – and for the first time in forever, their eyes meet.

Louis frowns. The man’s face is pinched, and his forehead is lined, and there’s an expression there that Louis is struggling to read, but it looks like—

Guilt, he realises. It’s guilt.

“It’s my fault Louis.” Harry’s jaw clenches.

Louis shakes his head in confusion, and he’s honestly trying to pay attention because Harry’s finally talking to him, but the man’s big hands are massaging more and more of the paste through his hair, washing away all the blood and grease of days and days and Louis isn’t sure he’s felt anything half so good in the last four years. And Harry’s making such a careful effort to keep the suds trained firmly down his back, missing the rended skin on his shoulders and the mess of his front. His arms feel warm and tingly.

He sighs quietly, and his voice is soft and languid when he speaks. “What is?”

Harry’s face is still so open, and it’s so rare that Louis knows he should be trying to catalogue everything, to work the man out. It would be better for his safety if nothing else, but—strong fingers press into his scalp. He shuts his eyes, blocking out Harry’s wide-eyed stare.

“This is.” Harry’s voice is quiet, and Louis can’t actually see what he’s gesturing at, if anything. “What happened to you.”

And _that_ shocks his eyes open again, because everything that’s been happening is _Louis’_ fault, and surely Harry can see that?

The water’s still warm as Harry finishes up with his hair, his green eyes focused, and Louis almost wishes it wasn’t over, but Harry takes the same paste and coats the sponge in it, rubbing it in small circles over Louis’ neck and face, and then down, carefully skirting the stitches. Louis drops his head forwards, and he lets out a satisfied sigh when it comes to rest on Harry’s shoulder. Harry’s cheek is pressed into his hair, and the bigger man freezes for just a second before moving his arms obediently, running the sponge across Louis’ shoulder blades beneath the scrapes.

_Mmm._ Louis could stay like this forever, thinks he might be getting a bit dopey with this strange balance of pleasure/pain, but there was something-- They were talking weren’t they? Harry said he was sorry? But Harry shouldn’t be sorry, because everything is Louis’ fault.

“No.” He manages, grasping at the threads of conversation, trying to weave them into something coherent. He’s starting to feel less and less stable on his legs, and his head is spinning and his stomach is tingling and he’s dancing a fine line between sinking deep and floating away. _Harry’s sorry._ “’s my fault.” He mumbles. “I said Niall s’hd go. It’s my fault.”

The sponge stops, and Louis looks up in confusion, but he immediately wishes he hadn’t, because Harry looks like he’s in _pain,_ and that isn’t ok.

The man shakes his head. “Louis no. None of this has been your fault. You know that right?” A big hand squeezes his uninjured shoulder, and Harry’s thumb runs gently up underneath his jaw.

Louis thinks about that. It isn’t true, obviously, but he’s struggling to think, so he just makes a non-committal hum.

The warmth of the water is beginning to fade, and a shiver goes through him as the shower forces his hair forwards and over his face. Harry pushes it back for him; studying Louis’ face with a focus that sends sparks through his stomach. _Naked._ He reminds himself. They don’t speak as Harry finishes up, kneeling to clean his legs, circling round the back of him to clean up the blood there. They don’t speak, but Louis thinks that maybe things are ok again?

Harry turns off the water, and Louis doesn’t know what to do. Probably he should move, dry himself off if there’s a towel out there, get dressed if there are clothes. He’s not convinced his legs will carry him though.

They both should move. But Harry’s still just standing there, and Louis doesn’t have much option but to wait and see. So he waits.

“We should never have taken you.” Harry finally mutters, and it’s quiet, but sincere.

Louis’ insides tighten, and he isn’t sure if it’s vindication of disappointment. It’s strange hearing those words coming out of Harry’s mouth. None of them said it – well, Liam had, but then _Liam_ – but Louis knew they were all thinking it: _it’s a good thing we found him._

And a part of Louis, a dark, quiet, broken part, wonders how long he honestly would have lasted if they hadn’t.

“It wasn’t our place to take you Louis. It wasn’t. I’m so sorry.” Harry says, and Louis sways forwards slightly in response.

_Important conversation._ He reminds his body, but exhaustion is clogging every single one of his pores and he feels so _heavy._

“’s ok.” He whispers, because he wants this conversation over. “I understand why.”

And It’s _almost_ true; Louis might never understand the ridiculous coincidence that lead them to driving down that exact road when they did, but he knows why he was taken, and even after everything that’s happened, somehow, he can’t be sorry that he was.

Harry takes a step closer, and they’re breathing each other’s air, and Louis can feel warmth coming off the man’s body. He shivers _._

“You mean that.” Harry’s frowning, and it’s not a question.

Louis nods anyway.

A small smile chases up the corners of Harry’s mouth, and his shoulders drop in relief. His eyes are soft with little crinkles at the edges when he looks over, and Louis has seen that smile before, but only ever pointed towards a small, blonde haired girl.

He shivers again, stronger this time, and Harry pulls him into his chest, hugging him tight, ignoring their wet skin and lack of clothes. Louis thinks he might feel warm all the way down to his toes, might stay warm forever, so long as he can stay exactly like this.

“I’m still sorry,” Harry whispers into his neck, and Louis believes him, he really does, and he’s working to get past it too.

He nods, letting himself be hugged, and the air is turning the droplets of water on him to ice now, but he’s still glad to be here, and the warmth has boiled down to a steady tingling in his chest.

Harry pulls back and glances at the stitches. “Let’s get you dry and into some clothes.” He frowns, and finally there’s red chasing up his cheeks, and past Louis would have teased him—no. Past Louis would have dropped to his knees by now, but _this_ Louis— well it would be an understatement to say that he isn’t sure if he should start anything. Isn’t even sure if he could, or what it would mean. So he just lets the corners of his mouth curve up and leaves it at that.

And Harry guides him, one had on his lower back, and he dries him, and dresses him, and pushes him, sleepy and compliant, back towards the rooms that have almost become _theirs_. And as he does, something finally uncurls in Louis’ chest, and he slowly relaxes into the warmth as it seeps down to his fingertips, because Harry cares about him. He does. And Louis actually believes it. They just need to survive the next few days is all, and then well, then maybe Louis can start living again.

\--

The next morning is pandemonium.

Or well, maybe not, but it certainly feels like that to Louis. He’s slept right through the night, and he’s feeling much, _much,_ better than he was, but still… _all these people._ It’s overwhelming.

They’re in and out like wasps around honey, and Louis has a growing suspicion that more than a few of them are simply here to gawk at Lux. But Harry keeps her tucked away, only introducing her to a select few.

She’s a little shy of the attention, though delighted when she realises that she’s going to be allowed out in full view of everyone from now on. Louis is happy for them both, if nothing else, they might manage to head off the agoraphobia that would certainly have developed if Harry had continued to keep her locked up.

There current war council consists of himself, Harry, Zayn, Ed and Lou, and Zayn is trying to suggest that they meet them head on again and _just fucking-_

“No.” He glares at the dark haired man. “No. We can’t afford to do that. You said there was an army. Our only chance is to use our strengths. We know they’re coming. We know the land.”

“They won’t be expecting us to meet them head on.” Zayn presses.

“No they won’t,” Louis concedes, “because it’s fucking suicide.”

Zayn lets out a small growl of irritation. “I’m just trying to help Louis, at least I actually know them a bit.”

Louis hesitates, but one of Harry’s warm hands snakes underneath his jumper, resting on his lower back, grounding him, giving him confidence. “And I’ve been attacked by them before.” He finishes. _And if you know them then why aren’t you fucking stopping this? Why are you even here??_

Surprisingly, it’s Lou who jumps in. “No, he’s right Zayn, there aren’t enough of us to risk it. And it’s not like we have the supplies if someone gets injured.”

_Yes. Thank you._ The hand starts moving, fingers stroking softly against his skin. Something in his stomach flutters.

Zayn shakes his head, but he lets it go.

“Ok then.” Harry’s stood to Louis’ right, and they’re all gathered around the old fashioned desk in the office in his rooms. They’ve cleared off the space, and there’s a makeshift map that they’ve built out of pebbles and string, and one slightly ratty pressed dandelion that Lux had presented to Louis with the uttermost sincerity.

_“I’m glad you’r back Lou-e.” She’d hugged him tightly around the legs, and then again around the neck once Harry picked her up and brought her over. The simple joy of it had made his head spin. Louis had been gone and she was sad – he came back and she was happy. No guilt, no burdens, no complications. She was just happy to see him._

_“I’m glad I’m back too Luxxy,”_ he’d said, and he’d actually meant it.

He looks around the table at their commanders. Zayn, and Louis and their knowledge of the enemy, Harry the leader, Lou the chemist and Ed the cook. Louis had wondered actually, why Ed was part of this, but apparently being head chef meant that the man frequently went out looking for specific supplies – mushrooms mostly, and herbs, and chestnuts. He knew the land better than any of them.

And he’d better. Because whatever Zayn might think, there was only one real option.

“So an ambush then.” Harry finishes his train of thought for him.

Louis nods. Harry’s rubbing the pad of his thumb in small circles over Louis’ lower back, and Louis actually suspects he doesn’t realise he’s doing it. “We’re outnumbered and we know the surroundings. We can lay traps, attack from the strongest points.” He points out.

“But what’s their main point of attack?” It’s a good thought, but then, that’s why Lou is here.

“Louis?” Harry turns to look at him, and the others follow his lead. “How did it happen before?”

The thumb stops suddenly, but the warmth in Louis’ stomach keeps going. He’d been thinking about it himself this morning. How had they attacked? They’d come out of nowhere. It was over so quickly. “They came in the day,” he remembers, “in the morning.”

Zayn’s nodding along, and they could have guessed that really. All these movies of people attacking at night were just rubbish. Not without electricity. Not without light.

“There were a lot of them – maybe a hundred.” Louis frowns, thinking about his appalling guess work when he’d first arrived. He’d though he counted a hundred people then too, and how many had there actually been? Forty? Less?

“No.” He amends. “There were less than 20 in the compound and we were maybe 1:3? So Sixty, less maybe, but it was hard to tell.”

“That’s less than we have here.” Harry points out.

_Only just though._ The thumb starts up again, and Louis lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

“No, Simon’s sending more.” And maybe it is a good thing that they have Zayn with them then. “He’s going all out.”

_All out._ Louis’ insides seize, and he’d really like to go just one day without that familiar wash of fear. One hour even.

“Ok.” It’s Lou, and she’s got her professional face on. “Ok look. It’s really unlikely that they’ll come across the fields. If they have vans and weapons…?” she shoots a glance at Zayn who nods. “Right, if they have transport and weapons then they’ll have to come down the road.”

“Not all of them.” Zayn shakes his head. “It would make more sense to come from all sides.”

“Louis?” Harry turns his big green eyes towards him.

“I don’t know.” It’s frustrating, but it had all happened so fast. “They came all at once, and they seemed to be everywhere. It would make sense if they’d surrounded us first.” Harry’s hand moves up his back, still rubbing, and Harry isn’t even trying to pretend to be subtle anymore.

Louis catches Zayn staring, but the others don’t seem to have noticed, or if they have, they don’t care.

Harry nods. “Then we’d better assume that’s what they’ll do.” He points his finger down towards one of the pieces of twine. “So we’ll need to take out the vans as soon as possible. And the dogs?”

Louis nods. “Don’t underestimate them.” And Zayn is nodding along with him, so that’s something.

“Ok.” Harry frowns in concentration. “Then wouldn’t it be better to send someone out tonight? If we can find their camp then maybe we can disable the vans?”

It’s Zayn who snorts. “Too many films mate.” Harry glares at him, and it gives Louis a vindictive twinge of satisfaction. The man shrugs. “It’s a day and a half by foot, a few hours by car. They won’t bother setting out in the vans until tomorrow.”

_Oh right, yeah._ It’s weird being in this sort of limbo between modern technology and Stone Age. Apparently he isn’t the only one who sometimes forgets that not everything has to be done the hard way.

“Ok.” Harry sighs. “Then we need a plan.”

Louis stares down at the table, and Harry’s hand drops back down to rest comfortably on the dip of his hip. It’s warm. “We need traps.” The hand squeezes, and a jolt goes through his belly. “It’s the best chance we have. We need to slow people down, spread them out.”

And suddenly the hand’s gone, and Louis’ back is tingling along the path it wove. Harry clears his throat, squaring his shoulders, and when he speaks his face is hard and his voice is clear. “Do we kill them?”

Louis’ own hand darts out to wrap around the bigger man’s arm. _Please no._

“No.” And Louis isn’t sure if he’s more surprised at the answer, or that it’s Zayn giving it. “Simon’s told them to capture only. Don’t kill them.”

_No killing. That’s good._

Harry sags immediately, his body relaxing, and Louis lets some of the tension out of his own shoulders.

_That’s very good._

Harry’s hand moves back to his hip and squeezes again, and Louis lets out a long breath. “Ok then.” He looks around the circle. “We’re going to need rope.”

\--

The next day is more of the same; planning and organising, and then finally some actual _doing._ Louis takes a team out to the forest, laying traps, making shelters to fight from and shelters to hide in.

It’s the best they can do.

Sentries are appointed to the various sheds and outbuildings, and a few up trees, ten in total, in pairs of two. Another twenty are placed strategically around the compound. High up wherever possible. Louis isn’t entirely sure what they are trying to protect if the guards are coming for the _people._ But his suggestion that they all simply melt away into the forest had been met with blazing eyes and firm _no’s_ when he’d tried.

The remaining thirty are led by Ed, who has apparently relinquished kitchen duty to Greg of all people. His team have been given the task of protecting the road; collecting rocks, stones and any other projectiles they could think of, digging potholes and stringing trip wires. Personally Louis thinks it’s all a bit HomeAlone _,_ and it’s probably not going to work. But nervous energy is better off used constructively, so he keeps his thoughts to himself.

Their best defence really, will be the forest, and their best chance will be in hiding. Louis shudders.

\--

That night, he packs up his rucksack. Harry’s returned his watch and knife, and he’s got food and water and anything he could need should he have to run.

He’d argued with Harry about it, but the man was insistent. _“Louis you need to be ready in case you have to leave.”_

_“I’m not going to leave.”_ And it was a ridiculous contrast to the person he’d been when he came here, but it was true. _“Please Louis? Someone needs to make it through. What if Lux—I can’t have her taken. I need at least one of us to make it, for her.”_

Louis had acquiesced pretty quickly after that, his stomach clenching at the thought of losing either of them. He wonders if Harry is ever going to stop using little Lux to cheat.

He’s just sat down on his bed when Harry emerges from the bathroom with a bottle in his hand, and Louis doesn’t need to be told to know what it is. He recognises the murky liquid laced with brown flecks.

“You should take this.” Harry says and Louis holds his hand out hesitantly. “Just in case.”

Louis frowns at it for a moment, thinking of trees and fruit and the compound. His body hurts, and his stomach seems so confused whenever Harry’s around, and he really doesn’t want to have to think about this right now but... “You don’t get many pips in an apple.” He points out slowly.

Harry shrugs.

_No._ “Harry—How many of these do you have?”

The man screws his eyes shut, and Louis suspects that he isn’t the only one who’s had a shitty day. “Three.” He says finally.

“Three.” Louis parrots.

Harry nods, and when he speaks again there’s a hint of desperation in his voice. “Simon has more, Zayn says. Not a lot, but more.”

_No._ He can’t take this. It’s too valuable. “And where are the other two?” He asks, because he has to. His hands and feet are tingling, and some dark, curious part of him actually wants to _drink it._

Harry sinks down beside him, and they’re shoulder to shoulder, arms pressed together in a warm line. Louis is wearing his sleep clothes; the baggy jumper and joggers that Harry’d given him weeks ago, and Harry himself is in a warm looking, soft, blue flannel shirt. Louis presses up closer to it.

“I’ll have one with me. The other is with Lou.” Harry pulls it carefully from Louis’ hands and zips it into the tatty rucksack that’s been with Louis since before he knew what a parasite was. Louis lets him. He’ll have to take it out later, obviously, but for now he lets Harry make the gesture.

“Harry…” Louis doesn’t know what to say. He feels like there should be something. Something important. This might be the last time they see each other. They might not make it.

He pushes more firmly against Harry’s side, and doesn’t even flinch when an arm comes up to wrap around him. The sun went down a few hours ago, and it’s dark enough that he can’t see Harry’s expression. A single candle flickers beside his bed, casting golden shadows.

He cuddles into Harry’s side, relaxing into it and thinking about tomorrow, and they stay like that for a while, just existing in each other’s space, and sleep is dragging at him when Harry finally moves, lifting his head curiously.

The first shout is faint.

It’s so faint that Louis doesn’t even pay attention to it. And later he’ll be disgusted with himself that he’d become so complacent. So embedded into the perceived safety of these locked rooms.

The second shout is louder, and Harry leaps to his feet at the same time as a frantic banging starts up.

“Harry!” It’s Zayn, and Harry sprints for the door to let the man in. “Harry they’re here! They’re attacking now!”

_Shit. Shit!_

They can’t be attacking now, it’s the middle of the night!

The flickering candlelight has made hollow’s of the man’s cheeks, and Louis flinches back instinctively. But he can hear more shouts now, shouts and screams, and they’re here, they’re here, and Louis has a job to do.

Another scream bites through the air, and Louis’ stomach clenches. He can’t hear barking yet, but he knows it’s just a matter of time.

He darts over to his shoes, ignoring the pain in his chest and laces them up quickly, and when he turns he can see Harry doing the same.

They shoulder their bags in unison; heedless of the pyjamas they’re both wearing. The cold won’t matter if they’re dead.

And then there’s another scream, and they’re running out the door, and Zayn is locking it behind them, staying inside, because he doesn’t know the compound and they need someone to protect Lux, and Louis doesn’t like it – had argued against it – but in the end Harry got his way.

“Louis--” It seems like Harry doesn’t know what to say either, and they stand there for a moment, wide dark eyes in the moonlight, and there’s another scream and they can’t do this right now. They can’t just stand here.

Louis shakes his head. He shakes his head, and pushes away the aching fear and desperate writhing of his stomach, and he reaches up slowly, gently, and with shaking knuckles, presses them firmly against the man’s warm neck, stroking once, twice with his thumb. And it’s not much of a goodbye, it’s not, but it’s the best he can do. He drops his hand and takes a step back.

“Goodbye Harry,” he whispers, and then he turns, and sprints into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I promised medical info, but I can't because of reasons. I might come back and put something in here later. Forgive me x


	16. Half a league onwards

Louis puts his head down and sprints, his heavy bag rubbing painfully against the barely closed scrapes on his shoulders. Black shapes dart back and forth in the corners of his vision, and he has to trust that they’re friend and not enemy at this point. The moon’s up, but it’s only six days past new, and there are thick clouds threatening to steal the rest of the light.

_Shit._ Louis can’t understand it. Who attacks at night!?

His knees are tingling and he can feel the back of his neck prickling. The day and a half he’s had to heal isn’t nearly enough, and every frantic thump of his heart is coiling something tight and painful in his body, and fear is making him weak as much as it’s keeping his feet moving.

There’s another shout.

_Male. Hurt._

He can’t tell which shadow it’s from. His heart moves faster, the adrenaline tightening the back of his throat. For a moment his instincts get the better of him and he veers away from the sound, and _no. No,_ – there’s Harry here, and Lux, and people who actually need him. And Liam might even be alive. He wrests his treacherous legs back under control.

There’s still no sound of barking, and somehow it’s making Louis feel _worse,_ because they’re here somewhere; and the only thing worse than being torn apart is _waiting_ to be torn apart.

He twists to his right and there’s something—a shape on the ground. He takes a gamble that it’s too injured to attack even if it’s an enemy as he jogs over.

There’s a weird coiffed quiff that he can see as a dark outline and it gives him courage, because surely no other compound would be ridiculous enough to waste so many resources on hair?

“Louis?”

_Thank fuck._

Faded memories of big hair and an even bigger mouth come to him. “Nick?”

“Shit, Louis? What happened?”

_You’re supposed to tell me that._

Louis clenches his teeth and crouches down. He can’t hear anything but they must still be out there.

There’s a yell to his left, and he twists and _fuck_!He can’t see anything! They’re in the trees, they have to be.

His mind turns towards Harry – he should be south of the barn right now, central, co-ordinating, but it’s so dark… so easy for them to be picked off without even realising it. Without even noticing—His stomach clenches.

“Louis?”

_Shit._ He jumps, heart thumping frantic and heavy.“I don’t know.” He hisses. “I can’t see them. Are you hurt?”

There’s the faint sound of rustling as Nick pats himself down. “Don’t think so. Just my feelings.”

Louis snorts, shaking out the fear, taking the distraction. “Why are you on the floor then?”

There’s a groan as the man sits up, and he’s more hurt than he’s letting on. He must be. “Oh you know, just taking a nap.”

_We’re going to die._

Nick’s probing the back of his head, and Louis leans in as close as he can in the dark, one hand propped on the cold dirt, grateful for something to take his mind off the eyes he can feel staring at him.

Something shiny catches the light – it’s coating Nick’s fingers. “You’re bleeding.” Louis whispers.

“Might be, might be.”

“Shit.”

Louis looks out into the dark but he can’t _see._ There could be anyone out there, good bad, injured – Harry could be lying in the cold dirt somewhere and he’d never know. And Lux—they’re trusting Zayn with Lux, and who’s stupid fucking idea was that?

A shout comes from back towards the compound and Louis jumps up. This won’t do. They can’t stay here, out in the open, it isn’t safe. They have to regroup, find Harry, get back inside. They can fight from there.

He spins, desperately searching the night, Ed’s team is supposed to be out here, where the hell are they?

His chest is tight and his pounding heart is making it hard to think. “Nick, the compound.” He grabs the man’s sleeve and tugs, wincing as a heavy arm falls across his injured shoulders. It’s a battle to get to their feet, and Nick’s obviously more than a little unsteady. Still, Louis almost sobs when they make it.

They manage about three steps.

“Fuck!” Louis isn’t even sure which of them shouted. Both probably.

They go down in a tangle; Nick sprawled heavily across him, and something pressing down on them both, grinding them into the ground, squeezing the breath out of Louis’ abused lungs and pulling open the stitches holding his chest closed. _No, no!_ He’s pinned on his front, the back of his neck exposed, and it sends shivers right down to his gut. _No!_

He pushes up with his arms, the dog bite on his right forearm tearing from the force of it, and suddenly there’s air, and space, and the reprieve sends him tumbling, spinning over and yanking up his elbows and knees up to protect himself from a threat that isn’t there.

_Shit_.

There’s a yell of pain from his left, and Nick is whipping his head round in confusion. “I didn’t see—what—Louis?”

Something’s not right. Something’s definitely not right. There’s no sound. No barking. Just the trees and the wind and a scattering of confused shouts. He rolls onto his front, willing his head to stop rushing, his body to calm down.

_Focus. Focus._

The steady drip of blood has started up again from his injured chest and arm, and they’re oozing and cold, sticking the thin cotton of his shirt to him.

It’s not important.

Louis presses a finger to his lips, hoping that Nick can see it. A dark head nods.

He strains his ears—there. Footsteps; almost silent, but for once Louis’ time alone in the woods is counting for something. He can do this. He can be useful - _needed_. He can survive.

Louis rolls over. Careful, cautious. He pushes down the fear, the tiny voice whispering _what chance do I have?_ He listens harder – it’s quiet, patient, and he thinks he can see it, just at the edge of his vision. It’s on two legs, so it’s human, and it’s too calm to be succumbed.

_Army._

_What are you waiting for?_

His hands sweep the floor, but there’s nothing there, no weapons. He can’t stay like this. Can’t just wait out here in the open. He won’t stand a chance – neither of them will. He shivers. _Run or fight._ Adrenaline is pooling in his limbs and belly and it’s making him twitch but he _can’t._ It’s not safe.

Nick moves. It’s just a twitch, but suddenly Louis knows that’s coming. _No. Not yet._ But the man’s frightened, injured, untested. He doesn’t have Louis’ experience.

He doesn’t have Louis’ patience.

_Nick no!_ He can’t shout – can’t draw more attention to them. His hand darts out to catch the man’s trouser leg, but he’s too late – Nick’s up on his feet before Louis can stop him.

_No!_

There’s a swoosh, a thud, and a scream, and something wet and warm splatters over Louis’ face. _Nick!_ And then there’s a body tumbling, falling, crashing into him, and he’s left gasping and crushed _again_.

_No. No!_

Nick’s not moving, and Louis doesn’t know what happened but there was no sound of a gunshot, nothing mechanical – a baseball bat maybe?

_No, no, no, no—_ The mantra goes on and on in his head, and he struggles uselessly to control his breathing, and Louis can feel the panic rising, can feel his body coming apart around him, each frenetic heartbeat forcing his blood out of countless cuts.

The sound of tiny gasping breaths lets him know that Nick is still alive, but he isn’t sure if it’s a good thing.

Louis’ pulse is beating harder and harder, and it’s making his head swim. He can’t breathe with Nick’s dead weight on his chest, and the dark is wrapping them up, and there are only shadows, dancing in the breeze.

He can’t hear footsteps. Can’t hear anything. But they must be there, they must be waiting, standing still, patient. His stomach twists.

_No, no, no--._

He can’t stay like this. He can’t just lie here! He has to get up, find Ed, find Harry, find out what’s happening. They can regroup. They can get Lux and make sure she’s protected and regroup. But how’s he supposed to find them? How’s he supposed to find anyone in this endless dark?

Louis feels like he’s upside-down, like he’s sinking faster and faster but he doesn’t know which way the surface is.

Something moves.  

He holds his breath.

Another step closer and he can hear their breathing now. It’s quiet, but broken, ragged, pinched with something. It’s a sort of choking sound. A shiver runs through him.

Louis’ eyes are wide open, focused, straining, and there’s a shadow that’s deeper than the rest. It moves towards him with shuffling, halting footsteps.

He takes a deep breath, forcing his lungs in, out. His mouth is dry, and he thinks again about the bottle of poison being crushed beneath his back.

Another step closer.

_No._ Louis can’t do it. He can’t die like this. Can’t just lie here waiting for it. There’s the ghost of fingers on his neck – or maybe it’s just the blood, dripping down from above him, but it helps somehow.  Harry’s out there, trapped somewhere in the dark just like him, fighting for his life, fighting for Lux.

He can’t die like this.

Louis’ muscles bunch, his heart thuds, his teeth clench. He’s already surging up, rolling Nick off himself with a strength that he shouldn’t possess; only there’s something screaming now, something back at the compound, and it’s loud and long, and wrenching.

Louis jumps to his feet and spins once, twice, but there’s no one there— No one.

_Shit!_ Louis doesn’t know what to do – can’t think past thrumming blood and burning adrenaline. Harry told him to run, but Nick’s probably dying, and their attackers are somehow past all of their defences.

He crouches down beside the man, ignoring the frantic clenching of his muscles. “Nick?” He gasps.

Louis scans the trees, but the clouds are crawling across the moon, joining up the shadows, blacking out his vision.

He could run. Harry wanted him to—He could dart out into the forest and wait it out, find the survivors, make sure Lux is ok. Find Harry – or what’s left of him.

Louis shudders, shutting his eyes. There’s only one option, really. Nick’s making small whimpering gasps, but he’s still not awake, and Louis rolls him onto his side, pulling up a heavy knee and tucking a hand beneath the man’s head.

“I’m sorry Nick.” He rests the back of his hand on the man’s damp forehead. “Sorry.”

Louis holds his breath and hangs his head. He lets his muscles tense, feels the adrenaline wash over him, and with a last glance into the dark, he pushes up and sprints towards the sounds of fighting.

\--

It’s chaos.

Louis doesn’t know what happened, can’t understand how it came to this. They had so many plans—they had sentries and scouts and hand-made weapons. They were supposed to be ready.

The dark is writhing. Shadows fighting shadows, and none of it makes sense but it doesn’t matter because Louis has one job now, and that’s to make sure that they don’t get to Lux. Everything else will have to wait.

The sounds are deafening, but it’s all primal shouts and guttural grunts, people in pain, people in victory. There are bodies strewn over the ground and Louis doesn’t know if they’re dead or injured, friend or enemy.

They could be anyone - Reem, or Lou-- Harry. _Harry’s south of here._ Louis forces the thoughts back, he needs to focus.

He dodges a shadow, ducking back to press against the solid brick of the main building.

He jogs quickly down the side of the allotments, sense memory reminding him where to go. The fighting is patchy – a group by the front entrance that he clumsily skirts, a group near to the barn, and the movement’s helping – burning away some of the adrenaline, unfogging his head. There’s still no sign of dogs, and something’s definitely wrong here because no one’s _talking_. No yelled commands, no tactics, no orders.

The clouds part as he sprints on, making the most of the light to dash across the courtyard, past the barn and the battle happening there and out in front of Harry’s building--

The front door’s wide open.

His breath catches. _No._

The tacky blood of his chest is sticking to his shirt, pulling and stinging, and his heart is in his mouth, pushing up through the bile that’s rising, and his head is drowning and his eyes are burning and none of it matters because _the door is open._

Louis’ going to be sick.

His stomach churns, and for a second, what vision he has starts to fade, but _no. No. Lux._ She might still be in there. She could—He can’t just give up. Not now. Not Lux.

He’s inside before he even has time to think about danger.

_I’m too late._

It’s dark. So dark, and Louis fights the adrenaline in his body, hunching down and tiptoeing further in. He can’t hear anything, but that doesn’t mean he’s alone.

He wants to call out, wants to shout, wants to hear her light feet on the carpet see a messy blonde head bobbing towards him.

He bites his tongue.

His chest is tight and little stabs of pain follow each heartbeat. His eyes dart around the room, but there are so many shadows. All you’d need to do is stand still--

There’s a noise.

It’s the tiniest of sounds, just a breath, an exhale, a brush of fabric, but Louis hears it.

He drops into a crouch, pulse racing, waiting. Nothing. But then—there. Another.

Louis’ frozen. He doesn’t know if he should move forwards or back. It could be Zayn, it could be _Lux_ … it could be a soldier.

Slowly, silently, painfully he moves, edging forwards between breaths. The sound of his boots on the carpet seem like drums in the dark, calling out his position to anyone who wants to come for him.

His throat is itching, burning, and his lungs work furiously in shallow, painful pants. _Please. Please._

Louis doesn’t know what he expects to find. Doesn’t know what he’s crawling towards, teeth gritted and bared into a tight grimace. _Please be here._

The sound’s coming from Lux’s room, faint but rhythmic, so that’s where he heads.

He’s almost there when it stops, cut off. _Oh god._ Louis doesn’t want to think about it, tamps down the shout that’s crawling up his throat. The sound’s stopped. _No more breathing._

He twists, trying to search the room, and something jumps. It’s heavy, and cold as it lands on top of him, and Louis thrashes, arms and legs wild, kicking and struggling.

He pushes hard and it falls with a clatter.

_Shit. Fuck._

A chair. It was only a chair. _Shit._

Louis sits back on his heels, body shaking and weak.

Something else leaps.

And this time it’s solid, and warm, and _alive_ as it slams into him.

Louis rolls, but it goes with his movement, straddling his waist, fingers turned to claws and scratching at his face. He makes a grab and catches a thin wrist, and he thinks he hears a whimper before the other fist comes slamming down into the side of his head.

He bucks, trying to unseat the person, and there’s a crash as they slam forwards into something – the table maybe? A drop of wet lands on his neck, and Louis wants to flinch away, but he can’t risk letting go of the wrist.

A knee rams into his chest, knocking the breath out of him and squeezing a few tears from his eyes. He’s not strong enough to do this, but somehow he’s not lost yet. The person above him is a hive of whirling motion, punching and kicking and biting.

Nails tear down his face, a punch catches his jaw, a boot in his stomach.

Louis can’t breathe. His throat is closing off and his chest is tight and there’s blood in his mouth. He blinks once, twice, and Louis thinks his vision might be fading, but he can’t tell.

With the last of his energy he coils his muscles and bucks to the side. It works. The body on top of him launches sideways with a crash, and Louis thinks he can add the snap of a thin wrist between his fingers to his list of nightmares.

He ignores the scream, ignores the bile threatening to choke him as he rolls himself on top of his opponent. He feels no victory. No relief that he’s bought himself a few more minutes.

“No! Please!”

Louis hesitates, and it’s enough for them to buck up, to get back the upper hand.

Only they don’t.

“Please.” The voice comes again, and it’s small, and scared. Through his pyjama trousers Louis thinks he can feel a thin body, and there’s a trembling shaking him that’s not him.

He holds himself carefully, wary of attack, but the person’s only lying there, shaking and cowering. His head is spinning and now Louis really doesn’t understand, because this person can’t be army. Can’t possibly be a soldier.

“Don’t kill me.”

Because it’s a child.

It hits him like weight, slamming into his thundering chest.

_It’s a child._

Not too young. Born before the infection certainly, but ten maybe? Twelve?

Louis is still straddling the kid, and his head is telling him to let the poor thing up and see to their broken wrist, but his instincts won’t let him – _kids can still kill you_ , and desperate people will do desperate things.

For a second, a cold wave washes through Louis’ stomach; could Simon really have children in his army? But no—that can’t be right, because this kid can’t fight. Not properly anyway, not with training, not with weapons.

The child is still shaking, muttering apologies and promises and things that Louis doesn’t have to listen to, to understand _._

He ignores it. He ignores everything.

“Where’s Lux.” He presses a hand down on the kid’s chest, and Louis hates himself for it, but he needs answers.

“What? No—I—Please!”

There’s blood on his hands, and Louis doesn’t want to think about just how true that feels right now, so he thinks about Lux instead. About her bright eyes and wide smiles, about how Harry’s face goes soft whenever he looks at her and thinks no one’s watching. About braiding hair and quiet giggles and hide and seek in the mornings.

For a brief second Louis thinks about the kid’s broken wrist. Thinks about applying pressure.

Disgust rises up inside him. He could never. He _couldn’t._ Not a child. He takes a slow breath, trying to calm his own shaking body.

“There was a little girl here.” He grits out. “With Zayn.”

“Please don’t kill me.”

“The child.” Louis can hear a thread of something weaving through his own voice, and maybe it’s fear, or anger, disgust. He doesn’t know.

The kid shivers. “I don’t know—I—Please.” Louis presses a little harder onto the thin chest and the child starts to sob. “I don’t know! The door was open! They said we had to look for people so I came here but it’s empty, there’s no one here! Please! I’m sorry! I don’t know anything! Please!”

_There’s no one here._

_There’s no one here._

He’s wasting time.

Louis jumps up, ignoring the yelp beneath him. He darts into the back room, stumbling in the dark and crashing into furniture and walls alike. He can’t see past his own hands, but somehow Louis knows the kid’s right. He’s known it since the second he saw the door open.

They’re not here. Lux isn’t here.

_Lux’s gone._

He swallows hard, something thick and angry is rising in his dry throat, and he spins, sprinting with everything he has back into the main room and out of the front door. He can’t see anything, he can’t do anything, but he has to try.

_They can’t have gotten far. They can’t have._

He turns, squinting into the darkness, but the clouds are thick and it’s black as pitch, thick and enveloping. He turns just in time to catch a dark blur fly into him.

_No!_ Louis goes down hard, his body slamming into the ground with a crunch, knocking the breath out of him.

He scrabbles uselessly at the person above him, but this isn’t a child. Not this time. They’re heavy, and strong, and Louis tries desperately to suck in air but his lungs aren’t moving, and all he can do is cover his face as blow after blow rain down.

_No!_

His head starts to swim, and his arms are failing. A heavy fist strikes his temple, and Louis’ diaphragm is finally working again, but it’s too late. His arms drop to his sides and the world seems to slow down.

_No—Lux-- Harry._ He doesn’t want to die like this, doesn’t want to be _found_ like this – bloody and broken on the floor. Can’t bear the thought of Harry struggling through the night only to find a failed Louis in pieces and Lux gone.

He twists weakly, spitting blood, and hands have wrapped round his throat but they aren’t pressing down, not yet. They will though, Louis has no doubt.

He coughs, and something metallic is trickling down his throat, and he has a second to feel that he’s bitten into his tongue, but it isn’t important. The hands flex, and it’s eerily familiar.

“Where’s Lux.” A voice growls out from above him.

_Harry!_ Louis feels it like a blade in his chest. Cutting, burning, stabbing.

He tries to speak, but his voice is choked in blood and fear and panic, and his throat clicks uselessly.

Harry’s hands start to tighten. “Where’s Lux!” He growls, louder, menacing, and Louis head flies back to that first week. To a hollow eyed angry man who kept telling Louis that he didn’t want him here.

And for a moment he’s afraid that Harry might blame him; that Harry might already know who he is and think that it was his fault.

  1. Louis shuts his eyes and pictures warmth, and soft, and bodies pressing shoulder to knee.



That isn’t Harry. It _isn’t_. He knows Harry.

Louis still can’t speak, but he can move his arms. Slowly, shakily, he lifts his hand, pressing the cold backs of his fingers to the man’s neck.

Harry freezes.

“Louis?” His voice is small and shaky.

The hands fly from his throat, running frantically over his face, threading through his hair, feeling where Harry’s eyes can’t see.

“Oh god. Oh no—Oh Louis. Louis I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” There’s fear in his voice, and Louis wants to reassure him, but his chest isn’t working.

He’s pulled up hurriedly, Harry straddling Louis’ lap, pulling him jerkily into a hug. His body is shaking, and he grips him tightly and Louis feels a cold nose pressing into his neck.

“I’m so sorry. Louis. Louis, I’m sorry. Are you ok? Why were you in there? What’s going on? Why’s the door open?”

Louis can hear panic and desperation pinching Harry’s voice, and he doesn’t want to be the one to tell him, isn’t sure if he can even speak through nausea rolling his stomach.

“G—Gone.” He manages, clearing his throat again, struggling to talk around his swollen tongue. “Sh’s gone.”

Harry stills, and Louis can feel his warm, strong body trembling. “Gone.” His voice is hollow.

“’m s’rry.”

He doesn’t know what to do, can’t make this better for either of them, so he grips onto Harry tighter, holding on with everything he has while the world spins on around them. His face is pressed into Harry’s collar, and the pyjama top is soft beneath his cheek and he smells warm, and familiar, his hair a heavy curtain for Louis to hide in.

“’m so s’rry.”

They breathe together, bodies in sync, until Harry seems to pull himself together. He nods once, pressing his lips firmly to Louis’ temple before pulling back.

“It’s not your fault” He nods, stroking a cold hand down Louis’ cheek. “It was never your fault. Were going to find her Lou.”

\--

Louis stumbles to his feet, shaky but strong as Harry rises up alongside him. They can do this. They can get her back. These aren’t soldiers – he’s almost sure of it now, they can’t be soldiers, they aren’t trained, and there aren’t any dogs. They—

A deafening _whoomph_ drowns out Louis’s thoughts. He spins in horror, eyes wide at a sky that’s suddenly flooded with dancing orange and the angry roar of flames.

The barn. They’ve set fire to the barn.

Louis can hear shouting coming from inside, and they must have used alcohol, or oil or something, because it went up so fast, and there’s straw and hay and the horses are screaming. He stands uselessly, and Harry turns to him wide eyed, before sprinting towards the blaze, yelling orders in rapid fire.

The flames are roaring, licking up the wood, and a part of Louis is struck by it. Frozen, terrified. Because there’s nothing they can do about fire. There’s no one they can call to deal with it, not anymore, and he wouldn’t know how to survive a burn in this world. He lets himself stare blankly for a minute, but only a minute, because now he can finally see the fight unfolding.

He was right. It _is_ chaos.

Louis swallows his panic as he turns slowly, in horrified fascination. There are groups fighting, and with the light he can see countless compound members, bleeding and filthy and staring dazedly.

_Oh no._

He chokes, a yell piling up in his throat, as he finally understands why there were no shouted orders.

They’ve been fighting _each other._

They’ve been _killing each other._

The shadows are flickering, casting haunting shadows on horrified faces he thinks he knows, hollowing them out, making them seem gaunt, terrifying. His stomach rolls at all the blood, and there are shiny puddles on the floor next to still bodies, all tangled limbs and jagged angles. One by one cries and screams break up the endless roar of fire as more and more twisted figures are discovered.

_Please no._

He doesn’t want to look. Doesn’t want to see what they’ve done to each other.

Here and there Louis sees a face he doesn’t recognize – dark grimaces and wide eyed fear as the compound turns to meet them. He want’s to call out, wants to stop this, because he can see it happening, can see the rage and panic and guilt twist out until the invaders are nothing more than rendered meat on the cold ground.

He swallows once, twice, but his voice isn’t working.

Louis watches on.

The thick smoke is clogging his nostrils, filling his mouth, crawling, thick and insidious down his throat and irritating his injured lungs.

He can’t let this happen, can’t stand by as their numbers are whittled down and down, but he can’t stop them either.

The high, frightened scream of a child breaks through his thoughts, chases away the smoke that’s filling his head, reminds him why he’s here.

_Boy. Young._

But that’s not what he’s looking for.

_Lux. I have to find Lux._

He spins, searching the grounds, but there’s nothing – no flash of white blonde hair, no dark eyed Zayn. Louis looks again, and he’s not sure what he’s waiting for, what he’s expecting – more people to come storming out of the forest, up through the compound, out of the buildings? Only they don’t.

_This is all there are._ He realises with a sudden clarity.

And as he moves he sees something else – he was right, they aren’t soldiers.

_That’s why they attacked at night._

He looks around again.

_To create a diversion._

_To take Lux._

Was that why they were here? Louis’ thoughts are angry, rushing, but the spin of the world has turned to slow motion around him.

_Is this why they’re here?_

Harry’s still bellowing orders behind him, darting from place to place, shouting to- “gather anything that burns and keep it away from the barn—No! Jess No! Don’t go back in there! It’s not important, let it burn. Leigh-Anne, pull the wood pile away! Anything that can be moved! Stop it spreading!”

And as he finally turns Louis gets a full view to the look devastation on his face as he realises what his compound is doing. “What are you--” his voice is cracked, and Louis thinks it’s as much emotion as it is smoke. “Stop it! What are you doing! Stop it! Don’t kill them! Don’t kill them!”

He sprints, moving away from the fire, rushing around to calm the fights, to bring his compound under control. And it _is_ his compound, Louis finally sees, can finally understand that no matter what, these people respect him, fight for him.

_Family._ His brain whispers, but the thought is too sharp to hang on to.

Louis watches dimly, squinting as Harry calms down the fighting, as the invaders are rounded up by the light of the fire. They’re farmers, workers, all of them.

Why would they have come here for Lux? They can’t have even met her. Why would they risk their lives…?

Louis frowns. It doesn’t make sense. He approaches a young woman cautiously. She’s maybe 20, with dark brown hair and darker skin glowing orange in the firelight, and she sends him a sharp glare but says nothing. There’s something in her face that’s familiar, and Louis casts his mind back.

_The hospital._

He’s seen her before. He realises suddenly. She’d been one of the workers at the hospital. Standing around in the car park mending a broken solar panel.

_Why are you here?_

And Louis doesn’t want to talk to these people who had taken Lux and destroyed their home, but he needs to know what’s going on.

“Why ‘re you h’re?” He manages around his swollen tongue.

She spits on the ground. Spits at his feet, and her dark eyes are angry and wild. “We came for our people.”

Louis frowns. It doesn’t make sense, unless— _Lux._ “Sh’s not yours.” He hisses, his own anger rising up to push out the cloying numbness that had somehow sunk into his bones. “Sh’ belongs h’re!”

“So you can experiment on them!” She’s _so_ angry, and Louis feels the heat of adrenaline curling in his stomach, ready to flee, ready to fight.

“Where. Is. Lux?” He spits, focusing on each word, and his tongue is throbbing, but it doesn’t matter

“Where are they!?” She yells back, and all at once Louis’ brain kicks into action, because _what?_

He frowns at her. Nothing makes sense. She’s not making sense!

“Who?” He bites out, bunching his hands into fists, and he’s still ready to fight, but she doesn’t come any closer.

_Smart._

“Our people!” She screams, and her voice is desperate now, and Louis can see her eyes shining with tears. It’s making him feel sick – the fear, the confusion, the heat.

His chest hurts and his head is swimming and he _needs_ to understand. “Wh’t p’ple?” Her panic is contagious, and Louis feels his body start to shake.

“Our people! Please. Please give them back. Please. We haven’t done anything to you.” Her voice cracks, and something about watching her break down is shattering Louis’ insides. “Please. Simon told us everything. He told us you took them. Please just give them back. No more experiments. No more.”

_Oh no. Please no._

There’s a freezing weight sitting in Louis’ stomach, sending icy fingers crawling up his spine, and Louis shudders as he finally starts to get it. He can feel tears pricking at the back of his eyes, and his throat is burning. He gets it, but he can’t _understand_ it. Can’t get his head around how anyone could be such a monster.

“D’n’t have th’m.” He whispers, and her face is already crumbling before he says it, because she’d known. She must have. They’ve been searching. That’s why they were here. Outnumbered and outgunned. “’m s’ry. ’m so s’ry.”

“No.” She’s crying now, and Louis can’t blame her. Can’t even think of it. Can’t comprehend how many of them Simon must have taken for his experiments. “No they’re here, they must be here.”

“’m s’ry.” He mutters, and he doesn’t know what to do. Can’t begin to make up for what they’ve lost. “’m s’ry. ’s S’mon. ’s always S’mon. T’k ours too.”

_He took their people._

_And now he’s taking ours. Our people._

And Louis can feel it now. Can finally accept that he’s a part of this. That they all matter to him. Each and every one. Even these people, attacking them desperately in the dark because they have nothing left to lose.

“’m s’ry.” It’s all he can say. _We’ll stop this. We’ll end it._ He nearly opens his mouth, but it’s a thought for a different time, so with shaking hands he reaches out, and she’s shying away from him, so he waits.

He waits, because this could be the tipping point. Because they don’t need to be fighting. They _shouldn’t_ be fighting _._ Or at least, not with each other.

And maybe she gets it, because slowly, cautiously, she takes his hand, and grips it firmly.

\--

Morning comes slowly, and there’s a tingling in his limbs and an itch in the back of Louis’ throat that he doesn’t understand. He thinks about the poison that’s still tucked away in the bag on his back and shivers.

The fire has finally burnt itself out, and it’s a wary group that drags itself into the main clearing.

“Report.” Harry croaks, his voice smoke-rough.

Reem steps up first. “No one died on our side, but Max, Sasha and Jade disappeared“.

_Max, Sacha, Jade._ Louis doesn’t know those names, he wonders if they’ll come back.

“Any of theirs?” Harry asks.

“One, in in the fire.”

There’s a choked sob from somewhere, and Louis has to remind himself that there’s even fewer of the attackers. They must be a close group.

“We have a lot of injuries on both sides.” Reem continues. “Concussions, a lot of cuts and bruises, burns. Some broken bones.” Louis flinches.

They’d made it through the night though. Nick’s still unconscious and Niall’s barely breathing, but they’re alive.

Cold shoots out from the block of ice that’s refusing to thaw in Louis’ stomach.

“Anything else?” Harry says blankly, and Louis can’t tell what’s going on inside his head. _Shock._

This time Ed steps up, and his face looks pale beneath a coating of soot. “Zayn’s gone. And—Lux?”

Louis shuts his eyes and swallows hard. _Zayn._ Harry, Liam, Niall—they’d all been so sure they could trust him, and now they’re both gone, and she’s out there somewhere alone.

Louis can’t imagine it. Can’t begin to think of how she must be feeling – taken from the place she’d lived her whole life in, from the only people she’d ever known. _She’s never even been outside the compound. She’s never been out in the daylight._

He swallows again.

Harry nods, his expression vacant. “Anyone else?”

Ed’s face hardens. “Greg. Greg’s gone, and so is the van.”

Harry frowns, and Louis wants to shake him, wants to shout at him to _come back_.

“We’ll have to go on horseback then.” Harry says.

_“_ We can’t. _”_ Louis looks up at the familiar voice. _Jess._ “We had to let them out. The fire--”

Harry nods. “Ok. Then we’ll walk. Jess, Ed, Reem, I need you to stay here and look after the casualties, get things back to normal.”

“What are you going to do?” It’s the girl again; the one Louis talked to the night before, and she’d spread the news, made sure that everyone understood what was happening. She’d helped stop the fighting.

Harry nods again. “I’m going to find Lux.” He looks up then, and Louis can finally see something creeping through the shock, something hot, and hard, and angry. “I’m going to find Simon.” He whispers, “and I’m going to find out what the fuck is going on here.”

“I’m coming with you.” She lifts her chin in defiance, and Louis isn’t surprised when Harry only nods.

“Good.”

\--

It takes them half an hour to get themselves sorted.

Louis wants to talk to Harry, wants to make sure he’s ok, get some sort of plan together. Maybe he just wants someone to grieve with, he realises, but Harry doesn’t let himself stop, not for a second.

Almost half of the compound decides to come with them and all but two of the uninjured attackers – the latter rushing out into the trees, and Louis half expects that they won’t come back, only they do, carrying rucksacks and coats that got left behind for the fight.

Louis takes the time to swap his bloodied, wet, cold pyjamas for his own thick jeans and a shirt and jumper of Harry’s, and then they’re ready, and then they wait. The compound’s holding its breath in the stillness of the morning, and a faint misting rain is starting to come down. It’s making Louis thirsty.

He wonders if Harry’s going to give a speech. Wonders if it’s needed? They aren’t exactly going to their deaths, but this feels like something. It feels like _revolution,_ and Louis doesn’t know why. And no one – not even the people who’ve lived there – know what Simon’s up to, and how many soldiers he might be hiding.

So maybe they are going to their deaths. Louis shivers. His chest hurts where his stitches tore, and he can talk again, but his tongue aches.

He looks over at where Harry stands, tall and sturdy in the centre of it all, and now that it’s daylight he’s tied his hair back, and Louis can see dark bruises blooming across his pale skin. “Let’s go.” He says simply.

Louis manages a step before a shout halts their procession.

“Wait! Wait!” Louis turns, and it’s Ed, running towards them, Reem pulled tightly to his side. He’s panting, and Louis can see panic in the lines of his body.

“Ed?”

His blue eyes are wide. “I don’t-- It’s Reem. Reem and Nick I think, and maybe others— I’m not sure—I can’t--”

“Ed.” Harry cuts into the man’s babbling, and Louis is thankful, because he can see the man’s panic start to unsettle the crowd.

“They’re thirsty.” He whispers, and Reem shudders on queue. “Reem’s the worst.”

She looks up then, and Louis thinks he can see it in her eyes – the fear, the desperation. And she’s their _doctor._ They can’t lose their doctor.

He shrugs off his bag quickly, and he can see Harry reaching out to him, but he doesn’t stop as he pulls the bottle out. There’s no thought needed here, it’s not a question. The antidote was never for him.

She stares fixedly at it, gripping onto Ed for dear life as the redhead takes the bottle.

“For her.” Louis says, his voice unwavering.

Ed nods, and Louis is grateful that the man doesn’t look to Harry, because what could Harry do? They can’t lose their doctor.

Louis turns, and the long haired man is standing stock-still with his eyes shut, and as Louis watches he takes a long deep breath and opens them. “Is anyone else thirsty?” His voice rasps, still scratchy from the smoke.

Louis looks away then, looks around at the faces. Pale and dark, older and younger, and all so afraid. A few shaky hands rise.

_No._ It doesn’t make sense. Louis looks over again, and there’s so much fear he can’t breathe from it. _What’s going on? What’s happened?_ This doesn’t happen. Not anymore. Groups don’t just succumb. It’s not supposed to happen!

Harry’s head drops and he nods in acceptance, and Louis takes a few steps closer until he can see fine tremors running through the man.

_This isn’t supposed to happen._

The rain is still falling, as Louis looks around at them all, a sickening numbness spreading through his limbs. This isn’t supposed to happen, but it has. Louis wasn’t supposed to be captured, but he was. Simon wasn’t supposed to be this evil, but he is.

Louis nods, a firm resignation settling in the pit of his stomach. So many things weren’t supposed to happen this way, but they have, so they’ll just have to deal with them and move on, because they can’t let it end like this. They’ve come too far.

They have to find Simon, and find out why people are succumbing. They have to find out if Liam is ok. They have to find Lux and bring her home.

Because she’s going to be ok. Louis knows she’s going to be ok. Nothing else is comprehensible.

Slowly, cautiously, he clears his dry throat. “Simon has more of the antidote.” His voice isn’t that loud, but it carries across the group, sending a wave of muttering in its wake. “It takes two days to get there. Less, if we hurry. We can make it.”

Louis thinks back to when the parasite first swept through them all. Tries to remember how quickly those victims had gone from thirsty to drowning. Was it a day? Two? Three?

They could make it, maybe. If they pushed hard enough.

The air is cold, but his skin feels hot as a big hand slips into his and squeezes, and the block of ice in Louis’ stomach starts to melt a little, because Harry’s finally coming back. Louis breathes out, slow and steady. They can do this. They _can._

Harry’s voice rises up and over the muttering crowd. “Louis’ right. I know we’re tired and hurt and scared, but there’s an antidote, and Simon has it. We just need to hold on for a bit longer.”

The murmuring gets louder, and Louis had been right he realises, because Harry was giving a speech.

“It’s not far. Just stick together, help each other. We can all make it. We don’t need anyone else to die ok?” There are a few faint words that Louis thinks might have been shouts if the crowd were bigger. “Please just trust me. I know some of us don’t know each other, but we’re all survivors. Simon’s been taking people from all of us for too long, and it’s time we stood up to him. It’s time we took something back!”

“Yes!” Louis snaps his head round, and it’s one of the second compound, all rosy cheeks and blonde hair.

Harry nods at the man gratefully, and Louis feels like there should be music, or thunder, or a horse to gallop away on.

But this isn’t a film.

It isn’t a film, and the world’s already over. So with trembling hands, Louis nods, and Harry nods, and Harry lets go of his hand as the rain starts to fall harder.

“Ok then.” He says. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be a little harder for me for the next few weeks, so I will do my best to be ready for Sunday, but there's no guarantee.
> 
> Still, It's cliffhangers 'till the end from here on out! Yay! 
> 
> Thank you all so so much for reading xx


	17. Big brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Blood, gore, violence, cliffhanger

Louis jumps at the crack of a twig, and Harry’s palm immediately rises to cup the back of his neck. It’s heavy, reassuring, and Louis inches closer to the larger man.

The rest of the group is back at the village of Ansty, which according to the map is about four miles West of the hospital, and looks like it hasn’t been lived in for years. Louis doesn’t know how they’ve faired – after the first three miles he was forced to duck his head, watch his feet and tune out the world.

And now there’s just three of them going on alone; Louis, Harry, and a brown-haired girl from the hospital compound – Ameeta apparently, though Louis isn’t sure the name’s worth remembering. He’ll make the effort if they survive tomorrow.

Louis fidgets a little; he’s aching, and sore, and Harry had tried to convince him multiple times to stay with the others, but he can’t let himself – not with Liam and Lux still out there. Not with Simon’s army’s and dogs and experiments just over the horizon.

The hospital looms, dark and foreboding ahead of them, and they’ve already circled it twice and found nothing. Perhaps a sensible person would have stayed put, licked his wounds, rested-- but Louis had _had_ to come. He’d needed to see for himself if anything had changed, what was going on.

So far he’s been disappointed.

Somehow he’d expected armies camping, or the noisy bustle of people getting ready for a fight. But there’s been nothing. Nothing until now anyway.

There’s another crack in the dark, and the sound of shuffling feet.

It’s a trap.

He freezes, holding his breath, but nothing happens; only Harry’s warm hand squeezing gently.

He inches closer to the bigger man, borrowing from his warmth. Simon can’t possibly know they’re here, not in the dark, and yet, it must be a trap, mustn’t it? Louis doesn’t have the answers yet; he can’t see the picture of how it all fits together, but how can it not be a trap? It’s too quiet, too still, too empty.

Harry tugs at him, and the three of them retreat a little way.

“Where does Simon sleep?” Harry whispers, the wind whipping the words away.

The moon’s out, and it’s the reason Harry decided to gamble on this little scouting mission. The three of them are crouched behind a rusted ford fiesta, but Louis can’t see as far as the faint sounds of movement.

It’s only one person though, that much is clear, and they aren’t making an effort to hide.

He turns back to where he can see Harry – his pale face lined with shadows – and the girl, melting into the darkness.

“I told you, I don’t know.” There’s a thread of anger in her voice.

Harry’s been questioning their visitors all day, but so far all he’s managed to find out is that their compound is a short distance from the hospital – on the opposite side of it to the village they’re currently camped in, Louis suspects. They apparently don’t have much to do with the hospital itself, though they come up sometimes to feed the dogs, and exchange equipment with Simon. They’re distrustful though, cagey. _They wouldn’t tell us even if they did know something._

“You live here.” Louis points out.

Her shadow shifts, and Louis figures it was a shrug, but it’s a bit hard to tell. “Simon’s in the hospital, he’s always in the hospital.”

“And his army?” Harry shuffles a little closer to Louis.

“He talks about them sometimes – about other compounds.” She hesitates. “We never see them. There are five guards that Simon keeps on hand. They’re weird.”

Louis’ mind flashes back to shrunken, desperate eyes, “Weird how?”

“Just… weird.” Her shadow moves again. _Shrug,_ Louis confirms. “They don’t really talk to anyone.”

Louis’ mind is still in those rooms, and now he can almost hear the dry rasping of throats that can’t scream. “They can’t talk?” He swallows.

“No they ask _a lot_ of questions. It’s really invasive, no one likes them.”

Louis doesn’t understand, but the tight clench of his throat loosens a little. “But--”

“They don’t talk _with_ us. They just question us all the time. They treat us like we’re children or something, always asking how we’re feeling.”

“But they’re normal?” Harry asks.

“Depends on your definition.” White teeth glint in the dark. “They’re healthy anyway.”

“Ok. Good.” Harry nods. “So five guards and Simon.”

The three are silent for a while. Louis takes slow breath, it still isn’t making sense. Simon has multiple compounds under his control, he has armies. “Then where are the rest of them?” His voice is quiet.

More silence. The wind has picked up, and it’s throwing his hair around, tangling it. If they make it back he’ll have to get it cut.

It’s a strange thought.

He waits silently, and it’s Harry’s voice that comes, shouting over the wind. “But you’ve seen them, right?” He shifts towards the girl, “do you know how many there are? How well trained they are? What weapons they have?”

She hesitates, “I’ve not seen them. Not for a while, maybe a year?”

Harry moves again, angling his body towards her. “How is that possible?” Louis can hear the confusion in his voice, even with the wind blowing a gale.

She shrugs, irritation flashing across her face. “They don’t live round here?” She suggests.

“But they bring people here.” Louis presses, because they must – how could they not?

“They used to, but they stopped ages ago. People said it was because it was too dangerous what they were doing – too many deaths.”

“Which people?” Louis’ voice is tight and his nerves are starting to fray; he’s cold, and tired, and everything _hurts._

She shrugs again and it sends a spike of anger through him. “People.”

The wind is tossing around branches like they’re matchsticks, and some part of Louis feels like he’s being buffeted around with them. _People. Simon, then_.

“But we’ve been sending food— unless it went to you? Or just… into the hospital?” Harry tugs at Louis’ arm as he talks, and Louis lets himself be pulled tighter into the huddle, into Harry’s warmth.

“No-- _We_ give food to the hospital, to help Simon with his patients.”

Louis’ body goes cold. _His patients._

Like he’s a doctor. Like he’s a _healer._

Louis feels sick.

 _Simon’s patients._ Simon’s strapped-down, bleeding, screaming patients.

His heart picks up. Suddenly the missing army doesn’t seem important anymore. “You know?” His voice is thin, and barely audible over the wind. “You know what he’s doing in there? You know and you haven’t tried to stop it?”

“I--” She hesitates, and Louis isn’t as good at reading faces as he once was, but he really wishes he could see her expression right now. Wishes he had something to distract him from the clawing nausea. “Simon has patients. That’s all we know. He takes people who’re sick or succumbing from other compounds. He looks after them. Like I said, the army doesn’t bring them in anymore, just Simon and his van.” Louis squeezes his eyes shut. Her voice has a slight waver to it.

_You know something’s wrong in there._

“You’ve seen them?” Harry’s voice has a nervous edge to it. “You’ve been in there?”

 _No,_ Louis guesses, _and you must have noticed people never come out._

“No, we never see them.” She shakes her head, confirming Louis’ suspicions.

_No one in, no one out._

“He says he can’t risk them getting an infection.” She continues. “The hospital has to stay sterile, that’s why he only keeps five guards there--” Her hand moves, but it’s an aborted gesture, and Louis doesn’t know what she was going to do. “The van goes in and out though, and whatever he’s doing is _working_. We have three babies now, _three_.”

Louis’ mind goes blank.

The wind’s still blowing, and the air is cold, and his hair is whipping in his face, and Louis feels none of it.

_Three babies._

How can that be? Unless--

_Unless it’s working._

It’s actually working.

Something big and clawing takes up residence in Louis’ chest. Simon’s farm. Breeding the succumbed.

It’s working.

It’s the _only_ thing that’s working.

His stomach twists.

“Where are they?” Harry asks, the sudden urgency in his voice fighting to remind Louis that they’re here to find Lux, only Louis can’t think about that anymore. Louis is stuck, frozen, horrified, and he can’t understand how Harry can’t see the true sickness in Simons plans. _But Harry doesn’t know._

“At our compound.” She hesitates, still untrusting, and her unwillingness to give up her compound’s location is suddenly making blinding sense. _They have three babies._ “That way.” She gestures vaguely past the buildings.

“So there are more of you? More that we haven’t seen?”

Louis’ ears are rushing, drowning out the conversation that’s still going on around him because they don’t understand. Because Simon’s a monster, and he’s doing terrible, terrible things, and it’s _the only thing that’s working._

Louis can’t get his head around it. Can’t begin to understand that sort of choice. Can’t begin to consider what they are supposed to do if this is the only way.

And he’d known.

Or, he’d sort of known. Somewhere in the back of his head he’d known. After all, Lux had come from breeding succumbed people, and this? This is just confirmation. A sick, repugnant confirmation that this is it. This is their fate. And at some point, this will be their decision.

His head swims with the knowledge.

How are they supposed to do this?

How is he supposed to tell Harry?

“Just a few.” The girl continues cautiously, and Louis can’t remember what they were talking about. “We left our doctor, a few others, the two under 15’s – not that they stayed put though.”

_What are we supposed to do?_

His chest is tight, and his breathing is shallow, and it’s tugging, pulling at the healing scars on the inside of his body, at slowly mending ribs and stitched skin.

“You thought we had your people.” Harry says, and Louis doesn’t know how they got onto the topic. He’s missing things. Loosing time.

“Because Simon said you had them.” She snaps. “He only takes the sick, but people kept disappearing, and Simon said you were taking them. It made sense.”

_Simon says, Simon says._

Louis fights down a hysterical giggle. “Simon says trust me.” His voice is breathy, and his head feels light, dizzy. _We’ll storm the hospital, and then what? Do we stop him? Do we stop this?_

“It’s not--” Harry’s frowning, and his voice is tight. He pulls his hand away, and Louis hadn’t known it was still there, but he misses it now that it’s gone; misses the physical anchor now that his head is drifting. “Simon’s not a bad person Louis—or, he wasn’t. He was helping people. Trying to keep us alive. People volunteered to go with him.”

 _Or maybe they won’t find the breeding room,_ Louis’ thoughts whisper. He doesn’t _have_ to tell anyone, and it’s a big hospital. He could lock the door, lead them away… bile rises up in his throat.

“It’s true.” The girl’s nodding along now, and Louis doesn’t know if they realize that they’ve both moved away from him, but he feels the cold wind where warm bodies used to be. “Apparently it was Simon’s decision to stop taking people against their will.”

 _Who told you that?_ He wants to ask, but he knows the answer already; _people_. People, meaning Simon _._

_Simon says._

The man’s got everyone believing that he’s doing the right thing, that’s he’s a good person. Louis swallows thickly. And through it all, rooms and rooms of tortured people scream themselves voiceless.

And it’s _working_.

 _They must be suffering so much._ Louis doesn’t know if he can do it. Doesn’t think he can live his life, if he were to let this continue.

They’re both staring at him now, eyes wide and accusatory, wanting to know if he’s been swayed, wanting to know if he believes them.

“Simon’s been taking people from your compound.” He says finally, fighting at the panic thrumming through his body, forcing himself to push the thoughts down, away. _Just for now._ He promises himself. _Just so I can breathe._ And as he says the words he’s certain it’s the truth. Where else could they have gone? Unless they found out the truth like he had – couldn’t let it continue, couldn’t try to make it stop. Perhaps they ran? Escaped the decision like Louis wanted to so very badly?

“Yeah, well. All we know is, he said you took them, and you didn’t.” Her voice is low, and there’s an edge of anger there. She inches away again, and if Louis hadn’t been looking for it he wouldn’t have noticed. “Unless you have another part to your compound. Something we didn’t see...”

She’s moving back more obviously now, and Louis can only shrug. For all he knows, they _could_ have another part to the compound. He hasn’t exactly had much free reign.

 _Who do you trust when the world ends?_ He wants to trust Harry. He’s trying to trust Harry.

He’d trusted Liam.

Harry reaches out, and Louis thinks he can see his hand rest on her arm, but his voice is calm, convincing. “You’ve seen everything we have, I promise you. Anyway, we aren’t a hospital, we don’t have the resources to experiment on people.”

 _But you could have. You could smuggle things away, lock people up, keep them secret, and separate. No one would have to know. You could work on saving us all without people having to worry about how you do it. You could wrap everyone up in a tangle of lies and just enough truth to make it work._ His mind is still whirring. Is that what Simon thinks he’s doing? Protecting them? Is it better this way?

More silence, and Louis can feel them working through it all in the dark. The wind has dropped, and the sudden quiet is ringing in his ears.

“Maybe your people were succumbing and they didn’t want to tell you?” Harry whispers.

_He’s already making excuses for Simon. Trying to find a way out._

“But why would Simon tell us that you had them? And Zayn agreed, and he’s _been_ to your compound.”

It’s the first mention of Zayn, and it almost takes Louis by surprise – it’s been a taciturn agreement, not to mention him. The single person who bridged both compounds. _Except_ _Simon_.

Harry sighs, and Louis can see his body sag with it, but there’s nothing he can do. “Zayn betrayed us. If Simon’s—doing something wrong then Zayn’s probably in on it. We can’t trust him anymore.”

 _If Simon’s doing something wrong – if_. Louis shudders. He shouldn’t be surprised.

It’s all lies. Lies upon lies. _They could never find out,_ he realizes suddenly. If Louis decided to help Simon keep his secret – and the thought makes his chest ache and his teeth clench – then he could never tell anyone. He’d have to lie forever.

“We can’t trust anyone.” He whispers.

The thought seems to snap Harry out of his melancholy. “We can. We can Louis. We need to trust each other.” He straightens his body. “We need to find out why Simon and Zayn wanted our compounds to fight. We need to get Lux back, and we need to get the antidote.”

 _Lux._ Was she the first born? Louis drops his head, his breath catching and his mouth dry.

They’re all quiet, silent as they contemplate.

“We should go.” The girl breathes finally, and Louis finds himself agreeing with her. There’s nothing they can do here – it’s too dark to see much, and whoever was out there is long gone. Anyway, if Simon’s already called his army then they’ll be inside, hidden. It was pointless of them to come. Simon could have had this planned days in advance. Maybe Louis was meant to escape?

“Lou?”

The nickname makes his stomach lurch, and as nice as he suspects it should be, he really can’t take it right now, and Harry’s looking at him, and there’s something in his expression that Louis can’t read.

He doesn’t get the chance to find out as the angry barking of dogs starts up, sudden and deafening, cutting through the wind. His heart seizes painfully in his chest and he whips his head up.

He can’t see them, but the reminder is enough to make his body tight, panic rising.

“It’s ok, it’s ok.” The girl’s voice is soothing, but Louis has seen those strong jaws. “They’re locked in Louis. Someone’s probably feeding them.”

He spins to look at her, and jumps as a solid hand lands on his arm.

“It’s ok Lou.” Harry’s voice is pitched low and soothing, and that isn’t helping either, because Harry doesn’t know what Simon’s capable of _._

“You haven’t seen them.” He points out, his voice cracking dryly, and when had his tongue gotten so heavy?

Harry shakes his head, but it’s the girl from the hospital compound who answers. “I have.” She frowns. “They’re ok. They’re trained really well, we aren’t in danger unless Simon or Zayn sends them after us, and they don’t even know we’re here. Like I said, someone’s probably just feeding them.”

Louis’ heart slows a little, but he can’t be calm yet. Wide eyes and foaming jaws flash through his mind. The thin, deadly dogs that had attacked Liam blending seamlessly with the angry, ratty, wild creatures that had hunted him while he was alone in the woods.

Louis knows dogs.

Dogs are always dangerous.

“We should leave.” He states firmly.

“No.” The girl’s voice is harder than he’s heard it so far, and her eyes are dark in the moonlight. “We should go investigate.”

“No.” Louis snaps, no thought behind the response. What is there to investigate anyway? They’re dogs, they’re locked up. That’s it.

“Louis,” Harry strokes a gentling hand up his arm, and Louis lets himself relax into it for a second before Harry’s next words shatter the peace, “she’s right. We have to be sure they’re the usual dogs. If Simon has an army in there--”

 _We might find clues._ That’s why they’re scouting, isn’t it? To look for clues, signs of an army, anything to tell them that Simon’s expecting them?

Louis’ body seizes as he pulls away. He doesn’t want to go see the dogs, he really, _really_ doesn’t. But they should. Of course they should. “They killed Liam.” He states, and there’s no inflection in his voice. It’s empty, wrung out, defeated.

“Liam’s not dead, Louis.”

“How can you know that?”

“Zayn said--”

“And you trust him?” Louis interrupts, because this he _needs_ to know. He needs to understand if Harry is going to be on his side, if he’s going to be a liability, if he’s going to trust Louis if he says to run.

Especially if they’re about to march into a pack of vicious, rabid dogs. He shudders.

Harry pauses and Louis can see his shoulders heave in a deep breath. “I have to.”

_I have to._

Louis shuts his eyes. He forgets sometimes that these people used to be friends, that they must have known each other for years now.

There isn’t anyone left alive that Louis has known for years.

He rocks back on his heels, and then in one swift motion he’s up on his feet, ignoring the angry protesting of his battered body and the dizzy spinning in his head.

Hopelessly, wordlessly, he sets off towards the barking; each hungry sound grating against something inside him.

He can hear footsteps as Harry and the girl jog to catch up, and Louis doesn’t turn to look at them, but he doesn’t flinch away when a warm hand slides gently into his and squeezes.

He tries to ignore the whispered ‘thank you’.

\--

The dogs are shut in a large, single story building just behind the hospital, but it’s easy enough to get in through a broken door. It’s dark inside, but the windows aren’t boarded, and the moon’s still out. Louis straightens up, swallowing thickly, taking a moment to catalogue his aches and pains – ribs and lungs - check, legs and feet - check, bitten tongue - check, clawed chest— _it’s probably in here,_ he realizes with a shudder – the one that clawed him.

The girl leads them deftly through the corridors, whispering platitudes.

It doesn’t help.

The barking is loud, and Louis has a second to think that they’re being incredibly stupid – barging in here without checking for people – before there’s the distant sound of metal on metal, and Harry’s strong arms are surrounding him and dragging him back into a dark doorway.

He holds as still as he can manage, but he can’t help the faint twitches of his body, and Harry can almost certainly feel them where the long line of his front is pressed securely to Louis’ back.

There’s no sign of the girl.

The hands around his middle tighten a little, pressing against the wounds on Louis’ chest, and he doesn’t fight it, though his body shudders against the contact. Harry’s cold chin hooks over his shoulder, and Louis had always felt so much smaller than this man, but he really isn’t, he realizes with a jolt.

He waits, pulse racing, but there’s no sounds but barking, and slowly but surely he feels it as Harry relaxes behind him.

He waits patiently for the arms around him to loosen, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, his heart picks up impossibly faster as Harry’s nose nuzzles into his neck, his hair, and Louis has a moment to worry about the state of himself, and then another to panic about what Harry intends to do, because this isn’t the place and it _isn’t_ _the_ _time_. He can feel lips against his neck, sliding up towards his ear, and Louis’ body is going hot and cold, and his heart is going much too fast and he isn’t sure if he wants to pull Harry closer or push him away and dart out into the night.

The lips move up and up, until they’re over the shell of his ear. “I thought I saw something.” It’s barely a whisper. Louis shudders again, swallowing thickly, his tongue reminding him that he’d nearly bitten it through only a day ago.

He nods, a bare twitch of his head.

He waits for Harry to let go of him, now that he’s said that he means to, cursing himself for the unnecessary panic. Only Harry doesn’t. Instead, the man pulls him in closer, his arms loosening at Louis’ uncontrollable wince, and his palms moving down to pull him in at the hips instead.

Louis’ body gives a weak twitch at the contact, and he lets out a small sigh. _At least everything down there’sg still working,_ he thinks bitterly.

“How bad is it?” Harry breathes into his ear, sending a shiver down his back, and for a panicked second Louis thinks he’s being asked about his inappropriate response to the casual touch. Harry’s arm comes up. “Your chest?”

 _Oh._ There’s a version of Louis – a remnant from his past – that’s absolutely disgusted with his behavior right now. Pre-apocalypse Louis would have had Harry on his knees and panting, not panicking like he’s never kissed a boy before.

“Hmm.” He manages noncommittally, because it won’t do Harry any good to know just how much it hurts, and how used Louis is to constant, chronic pain.

“I’m sorry.” Harry whispers into his ear, and arms are wrapping around him again, only this time it’s underneath his stitches, around his lower belly, still pressing him firmly against Harry’s warm front.

It’s dark in their doorway, and the dogs are quieter now, only barking occasionally. Louis twists his head. “Not your fault.” He mutters, keeping his voice as low as he possibly can. He presses back against Harry, edging them further into the little alcove – Louis hasn’t come all this way to be discovered before they’re ready, it isn’t worth the risk, not if Harry really did see something.

His body shivers again, and he isn’t sure this time if it was him or Harry, so he tries to relax, focusing on his muscles one at a time, clenching and unclenching. Only Harry’s breathing shallowly in his ear and it’s making his head spin.

“Lou?” Harry mutters, and Louis can feel warm breath over his mouth now, can sense how close their faces are, and it’s making his insides tingle.

 _Harry,_ he thinks, but the words get stuck. There an inch apart, maybe less, and dimly, Louis realizes that _he did this._ He was the one that started this, his turn of the head.

Louis can’t do it though. He can’t close that distance, despite the frantic yelling of his past self. It’s not him anymore.

He should just turn back. Let the moment pass, wait until the coast is clear and step away.

He keeps his head still.

Harry leans forwards and closes the gap.

His lips are chapped, but soft. So soft. And warm. Soft and warm.

Louis thinks his brain might be short circuiting, with Harry’s mouth pressed to his – a careful, cautious, chaste press of lips.

He thinks he might have made an embarrassing whine, but he can’t think past the tingling that’s moved into his fingertips. Harry makes a small sigh as he presses in a little harder, and Louis shivers.

The bigger man pulls back a fraction, his tongue flicking out, hot and wet against Louis’ lower lip, and Louis doesn’t think he should let this continue, isn’t sure if he wants to, but his instincts are kicking in – sense memories telling him to take the risk.

He presses forwards, earning a small, happy sound from the man wrapped around him.

Someone clears their throat.

They jerk apart suddenly, guiltily, Louis leaping forwards, up and out of the shadow. _Idiot._ It’s just the girl though, and when he looks up, there’s a glint of white, human teeth in the dark. _She’s laughing at us._

“Coast’s clear.” Her silhouette moves, and Louis falls gratefully in to step behind her, the moment well and truly broken. Harry only hesitates for a second before falling in behind them.

The dogs are there – all still locked where they’re supposed to be, all present and accounted for. It occurs to Louis, belatedly, that she could be lying to them; because they have no idea how many there are supposed to be.

Still, they’re here, they’ve checked everything out. Louis takes a deep breath, his stomach only just beginning to unknot once they’re out of the building and fading into the night.

\--

The walk back is shaky and long, and Louis doesn’t really know how he makes it – only that Harry’s warm body is solid and reassuring against his side, and his feet keep moving one aching step after the other.

His lips are still tingling, but there’s a guilty, churning sickness in his stomach. He should tell Harry about the breeding, about the babies. He _needs_ to tell Harry.

With every meter they travel Louis mouth opens – always something on this tip of his tongue that he can’t vocalize, and then they’re back, and Louis’ ears are ringing and his throat is dry.

The girl heads out to find people from her own compound, and Harry and Louis tumble together into an empty cottage, pulling musty smelling blankets over themselves and falling gratefully onto a dry mattress, and Louis has slept on better, but he’s also slept on much, much worse. And maybe _now_ he should tell Harry? He opens his mouth again, licking his lips, but nothing happens.

And Harry’s staring at him, he thinks, staring in the darkness, leaning over him, and he hadn’t realized that the man was so close. Harry licks his own lips, and Louis’ heart jumps into his throat, a tight protest on the back of his tongue. He isn’t sure if he wants to let it out or not, and his body seems to want everything and nothing at once, and somehow his voice still isn’t working. He wants to do this, he really does, but he’s hurt, and it’s been so long, and he still doesn’t remember how trust, how to communicate, how to just _be around people_ , not really. Harry’s a dark mass above him, and Louis is definitely going to say something, he is, only it catches on air, and he’s silent, and shaking, and holding his breath as Harry ducks down, leaving a gentle, burning kiss on his cheek.

“Sleep well Lou,” he rumbles, before turning onto his side, a solid foot between them.

Louis feels a scalding wash of affection in his chest, spreading out to his fingers, his toes, and it soothes as much as it stings. _Now._ He should tell him now, but Harry’s breathing has evened out, and Louis can’t bring himself to disturb the peace. “Night Harry.” His voice finally whispers.

\--

Louis wakes from a deep sleep shakily, his skin pricking and his mouth parched. He feels flushed, feverish, and shit, he can’t afford to get ill right now, there isn’t time for him to get some silly cold.

He pushes the sensations to the back of his mind, determined to will himself back to good health. Flu doesn’t kill someone his age. _I’ll be fine._ They have one plan for today, and that’s to find Lux and Liam, and to collect more antidote. After that they can rest.

After that, he can tell Harry everything, and they can work out what to do about Simon’s farm. He shivers. The word holds an edge that it didn’t use to – so much more now that the generic fear of teeth in the dark and imaginary experiments.

It might not work, his plan. Louis already knows that. The only way that they won’t find the breeding room is if Simon doesn’t want them to.

 _Trusting Simon._ The thought makes Louis grit his teeth. But if nothing else, he trusts Simon to do what’s in his own best interest, and surely that means keeping his secrets?

Louis twists, slowly rotating his arms to stretch his chest out like Reem had told him too. _Reem._ They just needed more antidote, and everyone would be fine. Reem should already be cured by now.

Harry’s not with him, but Louis isn’t surprised. He’ll be getting people up, checking on the rest of their group, getting everyone fed and watered before they set out for the last push.

He gathers his things quickly, changing his shirt and pants, and wondering very briefly how Harry feels about Louis effectively stealing half of his wardrobe. He shivers. Sweat is drying at the base of his neck, and after he’s greedily downed his full bottle of water he’s out of the door and looking for Harry.

He’s met with a distraught cluster of lined faces, and he doesn’t even need to ask before a dark haired man from their own compound volunteers in a hushed voice; “We lost Lou last night.”

Louis’ stomach drops. _Lou._ “How?” _Lou._ No, that isn’t fair, he’d liked Lou, they’d all liked Lou – she was smart, kind…

She had the antidote.

_Shit._

_One more gone_.

A cold spike of fear shoots through Louis, and he swallows heavily. _One more left._

“She was starting to succumb-- she must have ran away. We went looking but--”

“We can’t find her.” A voice jumps in, and it’s Harry, pale and drawn. “Her bag was in the house still.” Louis’ head shoots up hopefully, eyes making contact quickly, but Harry shakes his head, “– empty.”

_Shit._

_Only one left_.

\--

They press on, and it’s a subdued group that crouches outside the hospital that morning, waiting for their latest scouts to return. Louis had learned that they’d lost someone else last night whilst they were out checking the grounds. He doesn’t recognize the name, but it’s someone from their own compound.

And it’s not the worst part.

He stares round at their depleted numbers. There are seven people now showing signs of succumbing, all from Harry’s compound. Louis only recognizes one of them by name – Paul, the man he’d apparently shared a room with during his first few days with them. Not that he’d ever seen him.

On top of that, half of the hospital compound has decided to return to their own home – a few on the premise of escorting their two younger members, one of whom cradles a broken wrist that makes Louis shiver. It’s clear though that there’s more to it than that, and Louis had even overheard a whispered conversation about _contagious,_ and _dangerous_.

He looks around the unhappy group. The parasite isn’t contagious, he’s sure of that, but it’s true that only their compound has succumbed – _just one more question for Simon_.

 _Danger_ is different. Danger is what really worries Louis, because they aren’t talking about worry for themselves; they’re afraid for Simon’s patients _._ The girl had said it the night before, and Louis had glossed over it – more concerned about babies and breeding – but she wasn’t the only person to mention it.

And it’s so _stupid_ , because resources are for everyone, and Simon had _no right_ to keep those facilities locked away – they should be allowed inside their own hospital.

He understands though, because they’re being controlled by something that they truly stand no chance against; guilt, and fear.

 _Come in here, and you’ll hurt these people. Come in here, and your species will_ die.

Besides, Simon only left them alone because they didn’t try to interfere, and people who tried to interfere disappeared. Louis mind goes back to his first week at the compound, to Greg’s desperate threats to not tell anyone, to no make trouble _._

 _Greg’s gone._ He reminds himself.

Louis shivers again and shuffles closer to Harry’s warm side.

If half of them are worried on Simon’s behalf then how can they show a united front? He hangs his head. Maybe they wouldn’t be on Simon’s side if they knew what he was doing, if they knew where the babies were coming from. Then again, maybe they would.

He glances over at Harry, and big green eyes are frowning over at him. “What are you thinking?” Harry asks quietly, his face only inches away.

Louis takes a steadying breath, swallowing dryly. _Tell him._ “Simon wanted us to fight each other.” He says instead.

Harry only nods, they’ve been over this already.

“He must have known we’d want to find out the truth. He’s expecting us.”

“He knew we’d come for Lux.” Harry nods again, and Louis feels his stomach clench guiltily, finally looking away from where his eyes had unknowingly settled on chapped red lips. He’d forgotten about Lux. How could he have forgotten? It’s just all too much. That’s the problem. There’re too many things to think about; Lux, Liam, Zayn, Greg, Simon. Farms and experiments and the missing army.

He shuts his eyes, forcing away the sensations, considering Harry’s words. “He knew _you’d_ come.” He amends finally, and there’s an idea forming in his head now; perhaps Simon was never expecting a full on assault? Perhaps he thought only Harry would come, demanding answers and his child back? Simon could deal with Harry however he chose and tell the rest of the compound that he’d succumbed, and the group from the hospital would return with tails between their legs, and Simon could spin a new story – maybe the missing people had been moved? Hidden? Killed? But then why had Simon wanted them to fight?

“He only wanted Lux.” He whispers.

_Shit._

“No.” Harry’s firm statement pulls his thoughts up before they can rush away from him. “If they have three babies already then why would he need Lux? And anyway, why would he send their entire compound into danger for a diversion? If Zayn had wanted to sneak away with her he could have done it any time.”

 _True._ He frowns, turning back to Harry’s wide, worried eyes and another possibility occurs to him, an accusation on his tongue. “You think Zayn took her away to protect her.”

The desperate hope in Harry’s eyes is answer enough. “It’s possible. It _is_ possible Louis.”

 _But he would have come back._ Louis looks away. His chest is still aching; the claw marks closed but still hurting, and there’s a pain somewhere deeper. He swallows thickly, pulling a bottle of water out of his bag and draining it as he thinks. “Either way, this is probably a trap.”

Harry is fidgeting, his hand coming up towards Louis and then dropping back down, and there’s something in his eyes that the smaller man can’t read. With visible effort, he stills himself.

And now it’s Harry’s turn to look away. “Yeah.” The bigger man quickly scans the group.

Louis follows his gaze. Clusters of them are ducked behind cars, trees, those large, strange mounds of dirt. The upper windows of the hospital have been boarded since Louis was last there, but Simon could still be looking out, could be anywhere really.

There’s a quiet sound of footfalls, and when Louis turns he can see their two scouts in a half crouch, jogging over to them. Harry wipes the worried look off his face, a cold, blank mask sliding on.

“The windows are all boarded, but most of the doors are open.” It’s the girl from last night, and Louis really hadn’t tried to remember her name, though he thinks it begins with an ‘A’.

“It’s creepy.” The other scout adds in – someone from their own compound this time, male, blonde hair, early 20’s maybe. Louis doesn’t know his name either. “All of the rooms are empty, but there’s like, blood everywhere. Like on the walls and the floor.”

Fear stabs at Louis’ chest. “No bodies— _patients?_ ” He amends.

The girl shakes her head. “Nothing that we could see, but it’s really dark in there. We pulled a few boards down but… The doors to the top two floors of the neuroscience wing are all locked, and there’s definitely something in there. There was this weird sort of sandpaper sound.”

Louis is starting to feel sick again. _Screaming._ “Yeah, it’s the patients. Simon must have moved some of them.”

“He’s gathered everyone together then.” Harry’s looking at him blankly, and Louis has to fight back a shudder. He doesn’t like that empty expression, can’t resolve it with the gentle person he knows.

Louis freezes as something brushes against his side. His eyes flick down, and it’s Harry’s hand, carefully hidden from their audience and tucked carefully underneath the edge of Louis’ jumper, knuckles pressing against bare skin.

His body relaxes slowly, unclenching from a tension he hadn’t known was there. It’s still Harry. He knows Harry.

“Were there any signs of anyone else? Any dogs?” He questions. His skin’s prickling and he’s starting to sweat, but he tries to keep his mind focused. _Not getting ill._ Louis shakes out his arms slightly.

The man shakes his head. “The only sounds came from the neuroscience section, we checked everywhere else. If there’s someone there, that’s where they are.”

“Ameeta said there are usually five guards with Simon.” Harry nods towards the girl.

 _Ameeta._ He was right about it starting with an ‘A’ then.

She shakes her head. “We didn’t see them. They’re either in there with Simon or somewhere else.”

‘Somewhere else’ doesn’t sound that great to Louis, but then again, there are only five of them. Harry must agree, because he nods and straightens up. “Let’s go then.”

\--

They divide into four groups of about ten and circle the wing. It’s the same as Louis remembers, with doors jammed open and some panes of smashed glass. Getting in isn’t hard, but he doubts that they’ve managed it unnoticed. Not in the daylight.

“It’s quiet. Too quiet.” Harry mutters, a slight smile curving his mouth at the quote.

“I can’t believe you said that.” Louis shoots back, his own small smile creeping up.

“Well it is.”

He’s right, obviously. There’s no sound at all aside from the quiet breathing and distant footfalls of their teams. Louis thinks he can hear the dry rasping of voiceless screaming at the very edge of his hearing, but he can’t tell if it’s inside his mind or outside of it.

They find stairs quickly, and the door is stuck fast at the top, just like the scouts reported. Harry gives it a strong push and it shifts a little. “It’s not locked.”

Louis frowns, swallowing dryly. The familiar walls are making him twitchy, making him think of Liam and where the bigger man could possibly be.

Harry pushes the door again, pressing his shoulder against it and something starts to give. He watches cautiously as two more compound members dart up beside him and help him heave the door open.

He isn’t about to help, not with his body so weak, so shaky.

“Lou?” Harry beacons, and Louis slips in the door, following closely behind their leader. _A filling cabinet._ He notes, looking down at the heavy furniture that had been blocking the door. Had Simon been trying to dissuade them? Delay them?

Whatever the reason, it can’t be good.

The corridor’s dark – boarded like the others, and he can definitely hear the rasping screams now. They’re the same as before. Desperate, haunting, burrowing into Louis’ skull.

Cautiously, nervously, he slips his hand into Harry’s and they set out into the dark.

\--

The corridor ahead is lined with locked doors, and it’s eerily familiar to Louis. He can see the patients in his head, mouths open and straining to match the sounds, and Louis knows exactly what’s waiting in each room.

The others don’t though, and he sees a few of them curiously try the handles.

“What’s that _noise_?” A dark haired boy is the first to run out of patience. He’s from the hospital compound, Louis notes.

“Simon’s patients.”

He frowns at Louis. “It doesn’t sound human.”

 _It’s not. Not anymore._ Louis shrugs with forced casualness. “It’s what happens to your voice if you don’t stop screaming.” He hesitates. “Some of them don’t have tongues.”

He can’t see the boy’s face properly in the dark, but his chin is tilted up, alert, listening. The whole group has stopped now, taking in his words.

“It sounds like a machine.” The boy says finally, and something about his easy posture, the refusal of these new people to believe that Simon’s been doing terrible things suddenly floods Louis with a tight, burning rage.

He spins, marching determinedly to the nearest door. “A machine.” His voice drops into the silence, gravely from the dryness in his throat, rough from the prickling itch there.

He couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to at this point, and he’ll be disgusted with his recklessness later, but for now, a piece of the old, boisterous, thoughtless Louis breaks through, and he thuds his fist against the door in three, heavy, strikes.

The response is immediate.

There’s an almighty slam, as something throws itself at the door, _they’re not chained up anymore,_ Louis notes, throwing himself back from the door. It holds, though the frame rattles with every frantic thud.

There can only be one in each room then, or they’d tear each other apart. Louis tries to focus on the facts, tries not to think that there’s a person in there. Simon must have medicated them enough that they aren’t tearing at their own body at least.

The rest of the group is backing away, wide eyed and twitching. _They’re starting to believe me._

He stares at the door. Why aren’t they chained up though? Getting them in there without restraints couldn’t have been easy, and Simon can’t possibly feed them like that – can’t look after them.

There’s no reason Louis can think of for them to be free like that.

They move more quickly now, the group – buoyed by the fear of the things behind those doors, wanting to get in and out before they’re noticed.

“Good morning.”

The voice is pleasant, calm, conversational. A few of the group spin, but the more perceptive ones are raising their heads towards the ceiling. _Speakers._ Louis can see them spaced out down the corridor. It’s an old PA system, something for calling doctors, making announcements.

It’s Simon’s voice.

Harry’s frozen beside him, and Louis wants to comfort him somehow, but he doesn’t know what to do.

“I assume you’re looking for me?” Simon continues.

Louis shivers, and Harry’s hand finds his, grasping tightly. He’s been expecting them then. All their sneaking for nothing.

“Don’t worry, we can talk later.” The untroubled tone in Simon’s voice goes straight to Louis’ gut, but he can’t run. Not anymore. “First I have a surprise for you. You probably won’t like it, but I’m afraid it’s in your best interest.”

 _What._ The ceaseless screaming, and the dark, and Simon’s smug voice is too much. It’s too much for Louis. He spins round, looking for something to make it better. Anything.

_The windows._

Pulling Harry with him, he turns to the nearest one and starts wrenching the boards down, letting the daylight in. Simon already knows where they are, there’s no point in hiding now.

The rest of the group follow suit, spreading out and frantically tugging at the nailed wood, letting in the light. It’s not much of a help, but it settles something in Louis’ gut, and somehow they all seem to be breathing a little easier.

Wide eyes stare back at him in the weak morning light and he shivers. They shouldn’t be looking at him. He isn’t a leader.

“You should really keep moving.” Simon taunts.

Louis frowns and looks up and down the corridors, but there’s nothing, nothing-- he strains his ears, and suddenly the thud, thud, thud of running boots hits his ears, and something else, something like claws.

“Shit.” It’s coming from behind them – back up the way they’ve come and Louis gestures to it frantically.

Harry nods, waving at the others to move forwards. They only make it a few steps before the barking starts. It’s coming from further down the corridor, around the corner, and Louis’ first instinct is to spin and sprint away, but another voice raises to join them, and now there’s barking behind them as well.

_Fuck!_

They’re trapped.

They’re a sea of wild eyes, and for now they’re huddling together, but Louis knows it’s only a matter of time before they break ranks, before someone tries to run.

Louis tries to focus. Tries to work out what they should do; the barks from the way they’ve come are getting steadily louder, and he can hear something else; metal, keys maybe. Ahead of them the barking is steady – angry, vicious snarls, but they aren’t getting closer.

“Forwards.” Louis whispers, nodding his head away from the approaching sounds.

Harry nods, lines of tension around his eyes, and they set out again, jogging around the corner.

Louis’ weight carries him forwards two steps before he can stop himself, but it doesn’t matter, because the dogs aren’t free. It doesn’t matter, because they’re in thick, metal cages.

It doesn’t help though.

Louis looks across in horror. He’d been doubting himself, he really had, his fear and his memories all tangled up, making monsters out of the mundane, turning teeth into fangs and barks into snarls. But these _—these_ are the dogs from his nightmares. These are the creatures that came at him in the dark; that snarled and snapped, their skeletal sides heaving and strong, ragged bodies throwing themselves against the cage sides.

These aren’t the sleek, well trained dogs that Ameeta talked about.

These are monsters.

Simon’s voice comes again, certain and steady over the intercom. “It doesn’t have the same effect on dogs, the parasite. But high doses make them vicious, uncontrollable. It can be useful.”

 _Monster._ Louis wants to snap, but Simon can’t hear him. _He knows where we are though._ He can’t be far.

A shiver of weakness runs through him, and all at once his eyes feel itchy and his throat is dry. _Not the time._ He chastens himself.

“You should thank me, you know. I’m keeping you alive.”

Louis’ skin is hot and prickly; a bead of sweat running down his forehead. Simon’s good at keeping things alive – half mangled, limbless bodies flash through his mind. His stomach twists.

“You’ve not been easy to keep alive Louis.”

Louis’ body goes cold. Simon’s talking to _him_. The taunts, the grand standing—it’s aimed at _him_. He turns to stare at Harry, and his own face is mirrored by big green eyes; wide and questioning.

“Louis?”

“I don’t know. Harry—I don’t know.” Louis hisses, panic rising in his chest. Harry studies him, the focused look sending a shiver down Louis’ spine. “I don’t— _Harry_.”

“Ok.” Harry stares at him for a second longer before finally nodding and pressing his knuckles to Louis’ neck. It’s familiar, calming, and Louis lets out the breath that’s been backing up in his aching chest. Silently, Harry gestures for them to move away from the dogs. “We need to get out of here.”

Louis can see the accusatory faces of the rest of their group, and they’re already shaky, and confused; it wouldn’t take much for them to turn on him. He lowers his eyes, trying to ignore it.

There are double doors leading further into the hospital, and they jog towards them, their group in a tight knot, unnerved by Simon’s steely voice, by the snarls. The sudden barking has roused the creatures in the rooms, and angry thuds join the cacophony.

Two of their team dart forwards to push the doors open, shaky and stumbling, but as the rest move forwards, desperate to get away from those foaming mouths, more barking reaches their ears.

 _Fuck!_ It’s coming from the side corridor, the new corridor. They freeze, and the sound’s accompanied by sprinting feet, and as Louis watches, the second the scouting team bursts around a corner, hurtling towards them.

“If you’d just gone with my boys when I sent them to fetch you, you could have avoided all those horrible injuries… How’s the breathing by the way?” Simon continues in a bored tone.

Louis takes a shuddering breath, feeling the terrible ache in his lungs that he’s been ignoring. What’s Simon _doing?_

The second team slides towards them, and Louis peers quickly over the knot of people. They’re panting, and shaking, and it takes a few second to understand the desperate cries of _run._ For a moment there’s nothing, and Louis can’t understand why they were running and then, suddenly, and with a twisting roar, a creature comes barreling round the corner.

_It was chasing them._

It’s still got some voice to scream, and scream it does, a shrieking, wailing cry that’s not like anything Louis has ever heard before. It hits him like glass in his ears, like a physical force, and it triggers every instinct in his ruined body.

They have to run, they have to get out of here, they have to _run._

He backs up, jumping as his back connects with the wall. It’s not moving as fast as a healthy human, and it’s limping slightly – weak from malnutrition. But it’s wearing clothes, though they’re torn and ripped, and there are no shoes or sock on its bare feet, and its face is what makes Louis’ chest seize.

Its eyes are sunken, cheeks hollow, mouth gaping. It’s skeletal, wasting away, and as Louis stares into that wide, screaming mouth he sees no tongue, no teeth, and its hair’s fallen out, just a few thin strands hanging limply. One of its eyes has been gouged out, and there are claw marks down its cheek, ragged, ripped lines of skin, as if they were torn by blunt nails. Human nails.

He can’t take his eyes away, can’t move from against the wall.

Its remaining eye is wide, staring, and Louis can see desperation there, and pain, and an intelligence that grips his chest in a vice.

They have to run. They have to go!

Behind the creature there’s movement, and Louis manages to tear his eyes away for just long enough to see the guard. His clothes are heavy, he’s got a dog on a lead, and one by one, he’s opening the doors, and letting more of the creatures out.

With a thud, the corridor doors fall shut as the two groups back up, hiding the creatures from sight. It won’t stop them though, Louis knows. There’s only one option now – back the way they came – but Louis only feels a numb sense of resignation as he spins to see their final two teams, pale-faced and frantic, sprinting together towards them.

They’ve nowhere to go.

“You’re the last of the tag and release program you know Louis; they all succumbed, one after the other. I actually thought you might be special, at first, but I understand now.”

 _Tag and release program._ It echoes through Louis’ head, but he can’t understand it, can’t grasp it. He’s too afraid, too confused. Harry’s tugging at his arm, but there’s nowhere to go. Not really.

Another creature bursts into view, chasing the new groups, driving them all back towards the dogs.

“You’re not special.”

As the words echo in Louis’ head, the doors to the side corridor slam open as the first creature reaches them, falling immediately upon the closest person. It’s a girl from the second team – Louis doesn’t know her. She screams as blunt teeth sink into her arm, going for the wrist, fingers clawing, grappling.

There’s blood pouring down her arm, and it rubs its face in it, pressing forwards, bearing her down to the ground. Belatedly, the rest of the team react, grabbing for it before it can do any more damage. Pinning its arms.

“I found out how you’ve been doing it Louis. How you’ve been surviving.”

 _Tag and release program._ He’s tagged? How is he tagged? When was he tagged? Louis thinks that maybe it’s important somehow, but he can’t look away from the struggling horror.

So that’s how Simon kept finding him? Were these creatures tagged too? Were they from his last compound? Would he recognize them with teeth, with two eyes, with hair? He thinks back to every single time Simon knew where to find him. His complete disinterest at Louis’ escape attempts.

_Tag and release program._

And something else suddenly occurs to Louis. _I’ve been leading people into danger._ Every time they’ve been trying to find out what’s going on, every single time they’ve tried to sneak around, Louis has been lighting them up like a flashing target.

 _Liam._ He killed Liam.

“You’re just afraid.”

Louis stomach rolls. He is afraid. So very afraid.

He fights to swallow, and he can see another guard now – one in each corridor, walking down the line, keys in hand, unlocking doors.

Another creature lurches through the closed doors of the side corridor as the first from behind them arrives.

“You’re afraid all the time. Chronic stress. Constant adrenaline. That’s why you’re alive.”

He shudders.

They’re trapped now; pinned down in the tight, empty junction, creatures on two sides and dogs on the other, and as he turns, another twisted shape that used to be a person starts bearing down on them. And there are more behind it.

Two of their compound break away from the group and sprint towards the cages, but they’re too high, and they’ve no footholds, and as one struggles to boost the other up, a sharp, deadly claw darts through and opens up the man’s leg, the two of them falling to the ground with a yell.

Louis can feel the panic bubbling up, adrenaline fighting against the dizzying exhaustion that’s settled in his bones. He’s just so tired. So hot, so thirsty.

Another creature reaches them, and then another, and another. They’re coming from both sides now in a steady stream, backing them methodically, painfully, desperately, towards those cages.

A scream tears him away from the wet, snarling jaws of the dogs, and Louis spins in time to see Ameeta go down, blood pouring down her chin as clawed fingers rip and pull, hooking her mouth, tipping her head back, tearing through her cheek.

 _Ameeta._ He hadn’t wanted to learn her name, he remembers faintly, _in case she didn’t make it._

Blood is coming thicker now, from the people in the front, and in their panic they’re pushing and shoving at each other. He sees a few fall, tripping beneath the onslaught, slipping on blood and something else, something thicker.

The air smells like raw meat and blood, and underneath it all, something darker; the sewage-sharp smell of ruptured intestines. Louis gags, his head spinning in fear and revulsion.

Harry’s trying to fight his way to the front, to protect his people, but it’s no good. Their group is too tightly packed together, and there’s too many of the creatures. Louis can’t get his head around it, can’t understand how Simon’s managed to collect so many. How neatly they’ve all been funneled into this trap.

He swallows again, but his throat isn’t working properly and he’s choking on it; the smell, and the gore, and his dry, dry, mouth.

More and more succumbed fill the corridors, and some are tearing at each other, and for a second it looks like they might make it – might manage to set them on each other and escape.

The sound of metal on metal freezes the faint spark of hope in Louis’ chest.

He spins, and there are more people now – six people—six guards for six cages, crouched behind the line, their bodies hidden by the metal containers. But he can see their faces. He can see all six as they reach over in horrifying synchronization.

_Greg._

A stab of betrayal punches through him as guilty eyes avoid his own.

_Zayn._

The clicks of the locks are loud somehow over the baying of the dogs, but Louis can’t focus, can’t understand, can’t _breathe_ as he gazes up the line, as he stares at familiar, and unfamiliar people unlocking those cages.

As he stares at the people _killing_ them.

His eyes go dim, his chest constricts, his stomach turns.

“Liam?” He breathes.

He can’t feel anything. He can’t hear anything.

“I’m so sorry Louis.”

He’s numb, frozen, and Louis has the briefest moment to notice the bandages on Liam’s throat; a second to see big, Labrador eyes looking out at him in fear and pain as the man slides the deadbolt back.

“Liam?” He manages again, as six, powerful, coiled bodies launch themselves with twisting snarls.

 _Liam._ He thinks, as white, razor sharp teeth close over his face and his world goes dark.


	18. That which we are, we are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Blood, gore, violence, death (minor characters), vomiting, cliffhanger

There’s a clang, and a crash, and muted screams tear through the air. Louis’ view of the ceiling has grey spots around the edges, and his head is pooled in something wet. Dimly, he registers a dark shape kneeling over him, and a voice repeating something, over and over.

From the corner of his eyes there’s nothing but chaos, and Louis’ confused mind wonders if he’s at some sort of carnival. A fair maybe? There’s so much movement, so much colour, so much red. There’s probably noise too, but Louis isn’t picking it up properly.

There’s a hand pawing at the back of his head, and another shaking his shoulder, and Louis can register the urgency in the motion, but he can’t understand it.

“-ouis?”

Long hair and wide, frightened eyes fight for his attention, and Louis thinks that pieces of himself might be clicking back together, but that maybe he doesn’t really want them too.

“Louis? Louis!”

 _Harry._ His brain supplies.

Something rolls through him then, some sharp feeling that’s equal parts loss and longing, and it makes him even more certain that he isn’t going to like things when the picture makes sense again. Out of the corner of his eye there are dark shapes – their movements jagged, violent.

A body crashes into them, knocking Harry onto his hands before it’s up and moving away again.

He licks his lips slowly, was his mouth always this dry? Was his tongue this thick? Was his throat this scratchy? Louis’ tongue hurts. _I bit it,_ he remembers suddenly, and with it, more pieces fall together.

“Harry?” His voice is breathy and tight, but Harry’s face looks relieved to Louis’ unpractised eye.

 _The hospital._ He tries to sit, but his head swims and he flops back down, nausea lurching in his stomach.

 _The dogs._ The stab of fear comes back. Urgent, inescapable.

“Harry.” He grabs at the man’s heavy wool jumper, letting his mind wish for the briefest second that they were back in Harry’s warm rooms with little Lux giggling as she attempted to French plat Louis’ hair.

“Louis, can you sit? I don’t—”

He uses Harry’s arms to leaver himself up, eyes darting suddenly towards the dark, jerking shapes that he now recognises.

_They’re chained._

The fear and the nausea still surge in time with his thudding heart, but something settles a little at that knowledge. _Liam knew we’d be ok._

The guards are nowhere to be seen though, not any of them, not Liam.

He looks closer – each dog is connected to its cage by the back leg, and Louis almost feels sorry for the scrawny, mangy beasts, with blood and dirt matting their fur and raw skin tearing around the metal. He feels a twinge of sympathy. _We’re the same. Always struggling, always trapped._

Another body stumbles into them as the fight rages on.

“—concussion. Louis? Louis?”

Louis wriggles, pushing himself up a little further, still hanging on to Harry’s firm arm.

“Louis, I need you to try and focus. Can you do that?” Harry’s hand comes up, his thumb running down the side of Louis’ face. The proximity should be alarming, but instead of crowded he feels secure, almost sheltered from all the chaos.

_It must be the concussion._

He leans forwards, letting go of Harry’s other arm, taking his own weight. His nod is painful, but Harry puffs out a breath, his shoulders sagging. Louis’ body is still struggling to focus his mind; adrenaline doing its best to flush the cotton out of his head. He can feel a faint tremble through Harry’s hand, still on his face, and his chest tightens.

_Run. We have to run._

The dogs are straining, leaping, tugging at the heavy metal cages, and Louis doesn’t know if it’s their legs or the chains that will go first, but it’s only a matter of time. There’s no sanity in those rolling eyes – just unfocussed rage and too much white.

He rips his gaze away, spinning to focus on the rest of the scene. How long was he out for? Seconds? Minutes? The battle is already starting to ease. He counts four, five, six of the succumbed monsters on the floor, eyes wide and vacant, dead, and there are more pieces, he realizes, sickness clawing at his throat, eyes skittering over the ugly shaped lumps of wet viscera. His mind won’t let him make sense of it all.

Four creatures have survived, but the rest of their team have got them pinned, and they’re struggling and rasping in their broken attempts to scream, but they’re trapped. One’s missing a nose, and for some reason, it’s that gaping red wound that makes Louis’ stomach turn.

They’re winning though.

The grating shriek of metal sends his pulse flying as a cage suddenly skids forwards, sending him scrabbling back, the blood on the floor oiling its way.

They’re winning for __now, but where are the rest of them? He scans their number again.

 _There were more. There were definitely more._ His heart sinks; it’s not just the creatures – almost half of their team are gone. As he watches, two more survivors dart away, leaping up and off the creature that they had pinned. It spins to chase them with a desperate, dry, wail.

Louis’s breath catches and his lungs burn. There’s no humanity left in these creatures – it’s all instinct and desperation and anger.

“Louis?” Harry breathes, and the pain in his voice snaps Louis back to himself more than anything else so far. This isn’t _winning._ Harry’s eyes are worried, and his hands are stroking down Louis’ arms, over and over, a repetitive motion that Louis is almost certain Harry isn’t aware of.

“I’m ok. I’m ok.” He manages, catching Harry’s wrists.

The long haired man stares down, a frown on his face, but he’s nodding. “Do you know were you are? Do you remember what happened?” He commands, some of his old certainty creeping back as he quizzes Louis.

Louis’ stomach rolls uncomfortably. He takes a few shallow breaths.

“The hospital.” He shakes his head carefully. His mouth feels clumsy, slow. He thinks for a second; snapshots of thrashing bodies and strong jaws accompany the sense memory of feted breath and wet spittle _._ His stomach clenches. “The dog.”

Harry’s hand presses gently at the back of his head, but Louis can’t halt the wince. “Sorry.” Harry whispers, but his focus is at his fingers where they probe quickly and delicately. “It jumped on you and you fell and banged your head. It didn’t bite you.”

Louis shakes his head, trying to process everything. It had been so close – it had been right over him. His chest tightens.

“Louis?” He glances up, and Harry’s eyes are so earnest, but his body has a fine tremble to it, and his breathing is shallow. “Louis, you’re ok.”

Louis stomach flips, and Harry’s impossibly close, their sides pressed together, and his one hand still on the back of Louis’ head, and Louis needs the man like he needs water, but it’s too much. He stares down Harry’s body, his thick jeans, his heavy jumper, looking for a distraction, anything. A dark stain down Harry’s arm catches his attention. _Blood._ Harry’s arm is covered in blood. How had he missed it?

“Harry?” He stares down at the wound, wet and shiny.

Harry’s hands drops from the back of his head.

Somewhere behind them there’s a shout, and Louis jerks his head around to see one of the remaining creatures break free of its captors. He braces himself for the heavy crash of it rushing in to them, only nothing happens. Harry sags beside him as the creature falls instead on the already dead creatures that line the floor, on the pools of blood.

“I pulled you away.” Harry’s voice is distant, and he’s trembling, his body poised to move, fear clear in the lines of his body, but he’s holding together. “Wasn’t quite fast enough though.”

Louis shakes his head, and he keeps his eyes on the creature as he considers the information. Harry saved him. Harry _saved_ him, and got himself bitten in the process. Louis can’t understand it. Can’t even begin to understand it.

His body is twitching, pulsing with adrenaline, and now is not the time to think about it.

Louis looks around, fighting through the dizzying ache from his head wound, until his eyes catch on a blank, unseeing stare. It’s the man. The dark haired man who hadn’t believed that there were people behind the doors – that people could make those sounds.

Fear washes through him, sharp and hot, and his throat itches, and his shoulder hurts, and Louis wants to just run and run until all this is a distant memory.

He jerks his head back around, away from the dead face. “We have to get out of here.”

Harry nods and jumps to his feet, the tension bursting in a deafening rush, and he’s calling out orders in rapid fire. “Everyone out, back to the village, help anyone you can!”

A few of their number immediately sprint away, running blindly through corridors.

The others stop to collect the injured, and there’s a man – old, older than is common, in his 40’s maybe, who dodges the reaching grasp of a creature to hurriedly lift an unconscious younger man bodily off the floor. He sprints away down the corridor with his cargo and a small group, each fit person supporting an injured one, and two others trailing behind, dragging the single body.

 _Only one dead._ It’s not as reassuring as it should be.

Louis pushes himself to his knees, pausing as his head spins. The dogs are still barking, the cages holding fast, but something has to give soon, Louis can feel it.

Three creatures remain, and they’re tearing at the mess on the floor, ripping their dead brothers and sisters apart with mindless desperation, and it’s only a matter of time before they come looking for something fresher. Something wetter.

Louis pushes himself up the rest of the way, shaking from exhaustion and leaning heavily on the wall. His body is falling apart. He can feel it. Piece by piece, starting to fail.

There are four of them left now; himself and Harry, a tall woman from the hospital compound, and another girl, familiar somehow. She’s maybe 20 Louis thinks, and her leg is clearly broken; Harry and the other woman are doing their best to splint it with what they have, to get her moving.

Louis sees it in slow motion. His head turns with the yelping scream of the dog, and it’s the creature’s leg that gives in the end, its paw, dragging with a wet tear and the crunch of bone, skin and sinew giving way as the mangled limb slips free of the chain.

His heart is somehow beating in his mouth, and he can only stare as the dog sprinting towards them, leaping, violent and deadly, and the other dogs redoubling their efforts for freedom; five trembling bodies throwing themselves forwards again, and again, and again.

He braces for it to come at him, and he can see himself falling, can see the white enamel of teeth closing over him, and Harry isn’t close enough to save him. Not this time.

He feels a prickling whoosh of air as the dog darts straight past him – towards the girl on the ground. Towards the weakest member. His knees almost buckle, but from relief or fear he can’t tell. Harry throws himself onto the dog without hesitation, struggling to grip its bony, blood-slick back, and Louis wants to scream at him to run, but the other woman darts round to help him, and somehow the two of them mange to pull it back, to pin it. There’s a wash of blood down the girl’s face, and she’s pushing herself frantically away, panic winning out, forcing herself backwards over blood and other things. Scrabbling at the slippery floor.

He sees it before it happens.

With a strangled shout, Louis leaps forwards, pushing past his spinning head and weak legs, but he’s not fast enough, not loud enough, not strong enough. Hands reach forwards all at once; the animalistic instincts of the parched creatures sending blood slick fingers grasping, as her desperate shuffle pushes her into the knot of bodies.

They fall on her mindlessly. Ripping. Pulling. Tearing.

He pushes his legs to move faster, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do when he gets there but for once he abandons caution. He has to do something. Only as Louis finally reaches the tangle of limbs there’s a wet snap, and another, and the girl’s desperate screams turn into a gurgling exhale. He darts around clawed hands, still reaching for him even as they tear at the girl’s throat, and from beneath the pile he sees her legs twitch once, twice, and then fall still.

 _Dead. She’s dead._ They’re all going to be dead. This place holds nothing but death. His head is swimming, and his chest is hollow.

Louis thinks he might be sick.

Panic surges up inside him, and there’s no time for guilt, no time for revulsion. As the creatures bury their faces in her remains, there are more pained screams, and another two dogs drag themselves free and sprint towards him, mindless, and deadly. He rushes back, away from the girl’s twitching body, away from the blood, and towards the side corridor, crashing open the door with his scraped and throbbing shoulder.

_There’s only death here._

He’s ready to slam it in the dogs’ faces – to damage them as much as he can before they go for anyone else, before they go for Harry. But they aren’t coming for him, he realises suddenly, as the gut wrenching snarls turn into wet cracks.

 _The creatures._ The dogs are tearing into the three remaining creatures, ripping at their thin limbs and empty faces.

Louis has moments to spin away from the carnage, the briefest second to register Harry sprinting past him, the woman in toe, slamming the door behind them. There’s a heavy thud of the remaining dog, and the scrabble of claws as it throws itself at the door, and then the three of them are running, blind and lost and desperate.

\--

And now Louis is too hot.

He’s too hot, and for some reason it’s all he can think about as they jog away; his flushed skin replacing the twisting guilt. He started this. His attempts to escape; convincing Harry to help him. He started this. Hysteria bubbles up inside him and he feels strangely like laughing.

Another wash of fever crashes over him.

His head is light, and his body is aching, and his stomach is trying to warn him that it hasn’t been fed in a long time.

It doesn’t make sense

Louis is used to discomfort. He’s been in pain, cold, hungry, tired, afraid, for _years_. And yet, somehow it’s taking over his senses. Screaming at him. He’s _too hot_.

They slow to a walk, moving almost silently through the deserted corridors, and Louis takes a few deep breaths, trying his best to calm his exhausted body. Here and there a door stands open, empty.

There’s a crash from up ahead.

Harry’s arms dart out, grabbing at both of them and pulling them back into one of the rooms. The smell in there is a rank mix of sewage and decay, but it’s the sharp metallic tang of blood hitting the back of his throat that almost makes Louis retch. Beside him, Harry is vibrating with energy, and the woman is pale behind her dark skin.

The crash comes again, closer this time.

They huddle behind the door, not daring to close it with the threat so close. There are no locks, and against a mindless human or a dog it might work, but against a guard it would only serve as a beacon marking their location.

Louis almost thinks it’s worth the risk as he fights the surging, choking fear that’s screaming at him to _run._

More sounds filter down the corridor, and Louis flinches as a scream lances through it all. It’s fear, and pain, and so painfully human.

Harry starts to move, and Louis knew he would; knew he’d want to help, and Louis’ arms spring up to grip him, but he isn’t going to be strong enough— only a second pair of hands join him, strong hands, and he shares a look of understanding with unfamiliar brown eyes. His relief is dizzying. Louis thinks he might make the effort to learn this woman’s name if they survive.

Some new resolve slides into place, finally locking out that last wild instinct to run and leave them all behind. “Not yet,” he whispers, and he’s trembling with relief as Harry stills obediently.

Louis’ breaths are shallow and quick, and he wants to breathe deeply, to try and calm his body, but the stench of blood and decay is too much.

A single set of footsteps move alongside paws. _One guard. One dog._ But a healthy dog this time. Well trained, deadly.

He shivers.

The sounds reach their doorway, and Louis holds his breath, counting five seconds, ten, twenty. But the vile smell does its job and the guard passes on, moving away quietly.

Louis lets out his shaky breath, his chest throbbing, and there’s pain in his arm, and he looks down to see Harry’s hand slowly releasing from a death-grip on his wrist. He hadn’t even noticed it.

Harry follows his gaze and freezes. “Oh shit-- I’m so sorry Lou.” His hands reach out to touch gently, his body shaky and unsteady. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Louis shakes his head slowly, weary of his still throbbing skull. “It’s ok.” He takes Harry’s hand hesitantly and squeezes it. “It’s ok. It doesn’t hurt much.” It’s not a lie either. Louis is in far too much pain from his other amassed injuries to worry about a few bruises. And he’s so hot. So horribly hot.

The woman shifts, and she’s maybe a little calmer than Louis and Harry, but she’s still swallowing convulsively and blinking too fast. “We have to find the way out.”

Louis hesitates. He wants to leave. He wants so badly for them to get out of here and never look back, but he’s in this now. He’s already made the decision to see this through-- and more than that – he remembers tiny feet, and a bright smile and he just can’t. _We need to find Lux._ “We can’t.”

She frowns and shakes her head, her voice firmer now. “We can just follow the emergency exit signs. It’s a hospital there’s probably loads.”

Louis looks up and Harry’s staring at him from inches away, pain in his eyes. Louis nods at him.

“We have to find Lux.” Harry whispers. He hesitates, “she’s my daughter. And we have to find Simon. We have to find out what’s going on.”

“You have a daughter?” There’s a tightness to her voice, and underneath it all, so much pain. He looks at her more closely, and there are faint lines around her eyes. She’s in her 30’s, probably. She might have had children of her own, before all this.

Harry nods. “She was born at our compound but her mother died. I think her biological father came from here?”

Understanding seems to flash across her face, but Louis’ ignores it as his stomach turns to ice. _She wasn’t born in the compound. She was born here. She was born with her mother strapped and screaming._

“Simon?” She asks.

_Tell him._

“I think so.” Harry nods, eyes wide and earnest. “Her mother got pregnant here – I’ve always assumed it was something Simon did to make it possible.”

And now Louis can’t tell him, because something has just slid into place in his head with a deafening clunk. Why had he never thought of it before? _That’s_ why Harry’s always so quick to defend Simon, so keen to absolve him – it was Simon’s experiments that brought Lux into the world. Harry feels like he _owes_ him.

Louis has been so stupid. How has he never thought of it? The weight of dread in his stomach grows. Was that truly the only reason why Harry trusted Simon?

Louis shakes his head. He’s been so, so stupid, because he realizes suddenly that a part of him has been hanging on to Harry’s trust in Simon. Some stupid, naïve part of him, has honestly been hoping that he’d got something wrong – that somehow, what Simon’s been doing might not be as horrific as it seems.

He’d been wrong though.

There’s another sound, this time from the other direction and it goes straight to Louis’ legs. It isn’t safe here. They have to move.

He jumps up and stumbles around the door, quickly scanning the corridor. There’s nothing in sight.

Harry pulls himself up behind him, taking a few steps forwards and pressing his front firm and steady along Louis’ back and squeezing his arms, and it should be terrifying, but somehow it calms him. And there’s the ghost of a hand probing at his head, teasing through long strands of matted hair to where he knows there’s probably a nasty bruise.

Hot breath raises the hairs on his neck as Harry leans closer. “Go easy Lou, you’re still bleeding.” The other man whispers into his ear, rubbing his knuckles lightly down Louis’ neck.

Louis nods, struggling to ignore the sudden flutter in his stomach, but he suddenly finds that he wants to survive this, he really does, and not just for the sake of habit, or his continued existence. He wants to survive so that he can be with Harry. He wants to survive because if he didn’t, Harry might be sad.

“I’m coming with you.” A decisive voice whispers, and Louis had almost forgotten that the world didn’t just consist of him and the comforting presence of Harry at his back.

She’s looking at them seriously, and for once, Louis says the first thing that comes to mind. “We don’t even know your name.”

Se smiles then, and it transforms her face, forming lines on her forehead and brightening her eyes. “Tracy. It’s Tracy.”

She holds out her hand, and Harry shakes it without hesitation. Louis follows his lead, holding her gaze. Her grip is firm, and her hand is dry. Louis shakes it once and lets it go.

“Ok.” He nods.

“It’s going to be dangerous.” Harry points out, and Louis almost snorts.

Tracy does snort. “Thanks, yeah. I think I’ve actually noticed that.”

There’s an amused puff of breath from Harry, and the man’s mouth presses briefly to the back of Louis’ head before he’s sliding around him and out into the corridor.

It makes Louis’ fingers tingle.

“Let’s go then.” Harry says.

\--

They move as quickly as they can manage, and as quietly as Harry and their new accomplice can move; Louis has had plenty of practice at learning to be silent.

Their corridor opens out into a wide junction fed by three others, and there are a few lifts built into one wall; their metal doors rusted shut, and a blocked up staircase on the other side. They must be right in the centre of the building.

Louis shivers. The dark is heavy here, just the faint illumination of a skylight, murky and obscured by years of grime. They cluster together, bodies instinctively seeking company in the silence.

“Which way?” Tracy hisses.

Louis opens his mouth to reply, but a sudden crash pierces his thoughts, shattering them like spun glass, sending his heart racing and his skin prickling. He darts back to the corridor they’ve come down, peering through the small Perspex panel set into the wood.

As he watches, a dog rounds the corner dragging an unfamiliar guard on a lead behind him.

 _Shit._ His stomach twists, and he can’t breath. It’s too much. It’s always too much.

Louis’ wide eyes must be answer enough for the other two, because Harry immediately sprints to the next door. He tugs at it once, twice, but either it’s rusted fast or padlocked because it doesn’t budge.

They won’t have time to move the detritus blocking the stairs – more filing cabinets and unfamiliar machinery fill the doorway, and Louis doesn’t want to consider the lifts; they can’t afford broken bones.

His body is shaking, the fine trembling of his muscles giving way to larger spasms as adrenaline and fear wash through him. They keep moving to the next set of doors, this time himself and Harry peering through the windows.

A face stares back.

Louis almost bites his tongue as he leaps back, dragging Harry with him. _No, no, no, no, no._ The desperate eyes of one of Simon’s experiments is seared into his head, and he darts over to push through the final set of doors, throwing them open desperately as Harry grabs a confused Tracy by the wrist and drags her along with them.

He tries to ignore the panic thrumming through his body as they sprint down the new corridor – locked doors lining both walls. _We’re being herded._

There’s an inhuman shriek from behind them as they run, but Louis doesn’t dare to hope that the guard and the creature might fight each other instead.

A sickening snarl and a heavy thud accompany another scream. This one still has its voice then—it can still scream. And it does scream.

The sounds are stabbing at Louis’ body, making him weak, making him shake. Harry grabs his wounded arm as the creature bursts through the door behind them, and it’s painful, but it helps him focus.

They run. They run as fast as they can manage, dragging each other along, stumbling and panting until they turn another corner, and Louis’ stomach drops. The wild, frantic eyes of another creature stare back at them.

They skid to a stop, chests heaving and bodies trembling.

The new creature’s already moving, and he’s the most whole, the most _sane_ of any of them Louis has seen so far. His eyes are desperate, pained, frightened— _human,_ and he’s not screaming, but Louis can hear a faint mantra of _‘water, water, water, water’_ coming from his mouth. And it is a _him_ , Louis realizes with dawning horror - there are traces of a dark, patchy beard still on his face, and he’s so thin, and his clothes are torn, but somehow he’s still a _person_.

“Steve?” Tracy breathes.

 _Oh no. Please no._ Louis feels sick, and he doesn’t know how Simon keeps surprising him, but somehow there’s always something new. Something worse.

It’s confirmed then. Simon’s been taking new people from his own compound to experiment on. That’s why some are in worse condition than others. He’s been collecting them gradually. Slowly syphoning people away.

Tracy jerks forwards desperately and Louis grabs for her, and somehow, he makes it, but she’s stronger than him, and he finds himself being pulled along with her.

Firm arms circle his waist, and Louis doesn’t even panic as Harry lends his strength, the two of them yanking her back together.

“We have to go. I’m sorry, we can’t help him, Tracy, we have to go!” Harry shouts desperately, and Louis is about to turn, to start checking the doors when a large, cold hand reaches up to grab his shoulder.

It’s not Harry.

He lurches forwards, but the hand heaves, wrenching him backwards, unbalancing him, and beside him, Harry’s stumbling, the two of them falling with a heavy thump. Tracy follows a few seconds later, joining them on the ground with a broken cry still on her lips as the door slams shut and a padlock clicks into place.

“No!” She jumps up, running forwards, banging on the door, rattling the handle.

Louis tries to move, tries to push himself up, but the fall has knocked the air from his lungs, paralyzing his diaphragm, and something deep in his chest is aching in a desperately familiar way.

He looks up, and there’s brown eyes, and short hair, and that innocent-puppy expression.

_Liam._

He licks his dry lips as waves of panic crash up and over him.

\--

It takes Louis a few moments to come back to himself.

Something wet’s pooling at his back, and it can’t be blood, he’s not willing to believe its blood.

He sits up gingerly, his head swimming yet again, but when he glances down its just water. He shudders in relief, but it doesn’t last, as another fever-hot wave floods through him. He licks his dry lips, staring at the pool on the floor.

“Liam?” Harry’s voice breaks through his daze, and Louis pulls himself up to stand beside the man, ignoring his spinning head as he stares at those familiar, soft brown eyes. ”Liam what’s going on? How did you get here? Where’s Lux!?”

Harry stalks forwards, and Louis can see the man’s reserve shattering, all traces of their calm leader cracking apart, and finally Louis can see what’s been hiding just beneath the surface all this time - in the fine trembling of the man’s muscles, in the twitches and the shallow breaths and the wide eyes.

“Liam! What’s going on? Where’s Simon? Where’s Lux? Liam!” Harry’s breathing’s coming too hard, and he’ll have a panic attack if he carries on.

“Liam! Where’s Lux!? Where is she!?”

_Shit._

“Harry wait!” Louis tugs him round, pulling his focus away from Liam’s pained eyes, grasping the man roughly by the face. “Harry stop. Breathe. You need to calm down, love.” The endearment slips from his lips without permission, but he ignores it as he strokes a hand down the side of Harry’s wide eyed face, the other slipping down to grip his jumper tightly. He runs a thumb down Harry’s jaw just like the man had done to him, trying his best to remember how to comfort, how to soothe. “Just breathe Harry, we’ll find her. We’ll find her.”

A throat clears, but Louis keeps up his ministrations, his eyes locked with Harry’s as the man’s breathing begins to slow.

“She’s safe Harry.” Liam’s voice cuts through the false calm, but his words settle something in Harry’s shoulders. “I promise, she’s safe. I promise.”

Harry shuts his eyes and takes a deep, shuddering breath, catching Louis’ hand and pulling it up to gently kiss his fingers. “Thank you.” He whispers, as he turns to face Liam.

Louis lets himself feel the rush of warmth for a few moments before steeling himself and looking over at the man he thought was dead. At the man who’d betrayed them.

He wants to ask what happened, he wants to ask what the fuck Liam thinks he’s doing. He lets Harry go first though.

“Where is she Liam?” Harry’s eyes have hardened, and Louis is impressed with how quickly he’s pulled himself together, with the job he’s doing to look effortlessly cold. _And they said he couldn’t act._

“She’s safe, I promise. She’s at the hospital compound-- with the other kids.” Liam looks over at Louis, and for one horrifying second, Louis thinks that he’s going to tell Harry about the breeding. _Don’t let him find out like this. Not here, not from Liam._

The man only stares at Louis though, taking a hesitant step forwards. “You’re ok.” He stares down Louis’ body. “You’re ok Louis.”

 _I know._ He wants to snap, but somehow Liam doesn’t deserve his words anymore. Not now.

Warm brown eyes stare down at the floor, and Louis feels a hysterical laugh bubble up in him as he’s once again reminded of a Labrador puppy he once knew. _How did we get here?_

“You saved me.” Liam’s looking back up now, answering the questions that Louis isn’t going to ask. “Zayn said the dogs aren’t trained to kill, but you saw their eyes Louis. I get it now. I get the fear. They would have killed me, but you lead them away.”

 _Manipulative._ Louis wants to accuse, to shout at Liam, because the man must know full well that Louis hadn’t been trying to save Liam – he’d been trying to save _Niall_ , giving up Liam for dead in the process. And now here Liam is trying to praise him, trying to get back in his good graces.

“You did Louis.” Liam whispers, “you saved both of us.” He hesitates, “Zayn told me Niall’s ok?”

“He was alive when we left.” Harry’s voice is cold, but one of his hands has snaked underneath Louis’ t-shirt and is pressing to his skin. He can feel it shaking. “So there’s one thing Zayn didn’t lie about.”

Liam turns pale, but he shakes his head. “He did what he had to.”

“He took my child!” The sound bounces off the dirty grey walls, and Louis would jump away, but Harry’s shaking hand is still pressed to him. “He took Lux!”

Louis stands his ground, staring at the man he’d started to trust, but Liam only shakes his head repeatedly. “He had to. It wasn’t safe for her there, and it brought you here. You needed to come here.” _He believes what he’s saying_. “You’ll forgive him Harry, you’ll forgive him when you see. Everything that Simon does-- it’s so horrible. It wasn’t safe at the compound anymore, and you needed to come here. You needed to _see._ ”

“She was safe with _me_.”

“She wasn’t.” Liam twitches shakily. “She wasn’t Harry. I know you won’t believe me, and I can’t tell you why, but none of you were safe. But Zayn got to her in time, he watched out for her, and it brought all of you here. It was the best option.”

Harry takes a step back, but his hand’s still there, still pressed to Louis’ skin. “He should never have taken her.”

Liam shakes his head. “He had to. I swear—he had to.”

Louis’ stomach rolls and he feels a surge of white hot rage in his chest. “You still think you know what’s best for everyone.” He spits out. “You always think you know what’s best.”

Liam shakes his head, backing away. “You’ve seen it Louis. You’ve seen what Simon’s doing. Please just trust me.”

“Trust you.” Louis’ voice is cold, empty. His chest feels hollow and his body’s hot.

“I--” Liam sags suddenly, the fight going out of him. “I know you think I’m on Simon’s side, but I’m not Louis. I’m not. I promise you, Zayn had to take her. It wasn’t safe.”

“She’s never even been out of the compound--” Harry shakes his head, and Louis thinks he can almost see the man pushing the thoughts away, trying not to think about how afraid his daughter must be. “None of this makes sense. Why would Simon and Zayn both want us here if they aren’t on the same side?”

“There’s something else.” Liam shakes his head, making a wounded, frustrated sound. “They won’t tell me. No one will tell me, but Simon thinks you won’t fight him. Zayn thinks you will. I don’t know. It’s like they’re on opposite sides of it. There’s something else going on here. Something bigger, but they won’t tell me!”

“Liam.” Harry’s voice softens, a hint of familiarity creeping back in, and Louis closes his eyes in defeat. _So we’re all going to forgive each other then. If only it were that easy._

“You need to tell us what’s going on.” Harry continues. “What happened to you after Louis left?”

There’s a noise from the corner; Tracy shuffling closer, her eyes wide and red-rimmed, and Louis feels a stab of sympathy for her. Simon was one of them. The hospital compound was supposed to _know_ him. He was supposed to be protecting them, their last line of defence. And he’d done this.

Liam glances curiously back at her but there’s no recognition there. “Zayn brought me here after the dogs--” he fingers the dirty bandage at his neck. “Simon patched me up. I was pretty out of it for a day or so.”

“And Zayn?” Tracy prompts, speaking for the first time.

Liam turns to her with confused eyes. “Who are you?”

“Tracy.” Louis shoots back coldly. “She’s Tracy.” _She’s on_ our _side_ , he wants to spit back, but he bites his tongue.

Liam nods, hesitating only slightly. “Zayn was gone for a while.” He continues, answering her question. ”When he came back, he told me everything that Simon had done. He told me he’d taken Lux. It was—I don’t agree with what Simon’s doing. I’ll never agree with what he’s doing, but they needed help with the cages and they had a good reason— so I went along with it. I swear, Lux is safe - Simon doesn’t even know she’s here.”

“But Simon wanted Lux.” Harry’s face is lined, and Louis can read the confusion clearly.

“Simon never wanted Lux.” Liam whispers, shutting his eyes tightly. “Zayn just did whatever it took to get someone here. He made it up so that we would come here to investigate. He set everything in motion, to make us see.” He steps forwards. “I promise you Harry, she’s safe. She’s ok. Zayn _promised_.”

 _Simon says, Zayn says._ Louis had trusted Liam, and Liam had betrayed him.

Harry shifts backwards, away from the man, but his shoulders have relaxed a fraction, and Louis wishes _he_ could trust so absolutely, so easily. “And Simon wanted us here too?”

Liam nods. “He did—he does.”

“But you brought dogs—Liam, you set those dogs on us.”

“I know. I know I did. But they were chained, and I had to. I had a good reason. Please just trust me?”

“They got out. They killed someone.” Louis doesn’t know why he says it. Maybe because Liam needs to hear that he doesn’t always know what’s best, maybe because Liam knows how afraid Louis is but he did it anyway, or maybe just out of spite, because he can already read Harry’s forgiveness in the lines of his body, the way his hand has stopped shaking at Louis’ back.

“Oh god.” Liam is pale, trembling, and he looks like something inside of him has just broken, something irreplaceable, and Louis suddenly feels shame strong enough to steal his breath away.

“It wasn’t just the dogs.” He mutters, the hand at his back now still, pulling away a little. “It wasn’t—the people did the most damage, and it wasn’t the dog you let out. But Liam you have to tell us why you did it.” The hand returns, pressing against him more firmly, and Louis fights the urge to let out a relieved sigh.

“I can’t.” Liam’s still pale, his face still desperate, but he’s a little less broken maybe, and Louis can see his resolve. “Louis please believe me. I know I don’t always get it right, but please trust me. It was the right thing to do. And I can’t tell you why.”

Louis slumps to the side, letting his weight fall against the line of Harry’s body.

Liam isn’t going to say anything. They’re just wasting time.

Harry must agree, because he sighs and nods. “Ok then. We need to keep moving, find Simon, figure out what they aren’t telling us.”

Liam nods hurriedly, but the tension has faded around his eyes and he takes a step forwards.

Louis turns to Tracy, and she gives a brief nod, shuffling towards the door. _We’re all in agreement then._

He moves quickly, pressing his ear carefully to the door and trying to ignore the discomfort of having so many people at his back. There’s no sound from the other side, and the padlock that Liam clicked on is still hanging there solidly. “OK.” He reaches towards Liam. “Key.”

“Wait.” Liam’s frowning at the water on the floor, and Louis wants to snap at him, because what now? What else can there possibly be _?_ It’s just water, it’s wet. It’s just water. He swallows thickly.

“Harry?” Liam continues, pointing at where the trail of water is soaked into Harry’s clothes.

The man nods once, reaching around himself to tug a split plastic bottle from where it’d apparently been tucked into the waistband beneath his lumpy jumper.

“I didn’t want to leave it outside.” Harry’s voice is tight, nervous, and he’s staring at Louis with uncertain eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Harry?” Louis presses, even though he knows what that was. How can he not.

“I’m sorry.” Harry repeats.

Louis stares at the puddle on the floor. _The last antidote._

“What was it?” Tracy says, and she sounds more curious than worried, gazing between them questioningly.

“The antidote.” Louis intones, only his voice comes out firmer than he’d expected. There’s nothing they can do now.

“But you have more right? Please tell me you have more.” Liam takes a step forwards, making a small noise in his throat when Louis instinctively takes one back. “Louis? Tell me you have more? Please tell me you have more!”

Louis backs up, shaking his head. “Last one.” He mutters.

There’s a pause, and Liam’s eyes are wide and frightened, and Louis wonders why he’s so desperate that they have more. They can make it themselves, after all. They just need time.

“Ok.” Liam nods, straightening his shoulders and marching forwards as Louis jumps quickly out of the way. “Ok. Well. Simon will have some. Simon’s got to have some.”

 _Why’s it so important?_ Louis wants to ask, but he thinks maybe he doesn’t want to know the answer this time.

“Simon will have some.” Liam repeats firmly, and with steady hands, unlocks the door and pushes it open.

\--

They move silently, sometimes shuffling past signs of fighting – blood, torn clothing, and on one horrifying occasion, a single, pink, human ear.

Liam’s leading the way, and he seems to know where Simon should be, though he readily admits that he’s never been through this section of the hospital before.

There’s a loud crackle, and Louis freezes. “You’re getting closer Louis. Well done, you always were a survivor.” The voice drops out of the old PA system as Liam leads them through another set of doors, tugging at Louis’ arm until he moves again.

“Just ignore him.” Liam hisses. “He doesn’t have the electrics for cameras, he can’t see us. He’s bluffing.”

“I’m sorry I had to scare you like that Louis, but it really was for the best. I know you’ll forgive me.”

Louis wants to shout, Louis wants to spit on the ground and stamp his feet, but his mouth is dry and he thinks he might be sick, so he keeps his head down and pushes on.

“You know, when I sent Niall and his team to collect you I didn’t think you’d be this much trouble. It’s standard procedure Louis, to recapture all of our tagged trials. Well it would have been, if any of the others had survived.” Simon laughs, but the speakers twist it, turn it dry and rasping, an echo of the voiceless creatures. “Still, it’s worked out for the best, don’t you think?”

There’s a final set of double doors ahead, and they’re padlocked, but Liam pulls a dull grey key out of his pocket. _Skeleton key._ “We’re here, I think.” He nods.

“Liam?” Harry’s voice is questioning, and Louis doesn’t know how the man is managing it, how he’s not fallen apart from betrayal after betrayal. He _trusts_ Liam _._ Even now, he trusts Liam _._ Louis wishes he could still trust like that.

“You’re not special you know Louis.” Simon continues, “all I wanted was to bring you in, find out if there was some secret reason you’re still ticking. There isn’t though. You were just afraid. You’re always afraid. All that lovely adrenaline-- The perfect coward.”

Louis bristles, and there’s a low growling that he’s shocked to realise is coming from his own throat.

He thought his pride had died with his family. _Apparently not._

A warm hand slips into his, and Louis lets himself relax a little as Harry leans in to press his lips to Louis’ ear. “You’ll never be a coward Lou, and everyone knows it,” he breathes, sending tiny shivers down the back of Louis’ neck, “you fought to survive, you fought to save Niall and Liam, you’re fighting to save Lux, you’re fighting to trust us.”

Louis shuts his eyes, “but I was always afraid,” he whispers.

“I know.” Harry presses a gentle kiss to his cheek and squeezes his hand. “That’s what makes you brave.”

There’s a soft click, and Liam pushes both doors open roughly, shattering the moment, and Louis can’t hold back an amused huff. It’s stupid – sentimental maybe, but somehow his heart beats a little easier at the familiar brash, oblivious, action. It’s still Liam, and Liam has always done what he thinks is best for Louis, even when Louis doesn’t want him to. _You’re fighting to trust us,_ Harry’s words echo in his head, and he stares at Liam’s back with a frown.

\--

The four of them traipse through, and the first thing Louis notices is the small knot of survivors from their own team huddled in the corner. He recognises the man who’d stayed to help the injured when they were attacked, and the boy that he’d carried, now conscious and crouched warily at his back. _Were they locked in?_ Louis shivers. _Why were we meant to see this? Why were we all brought here?_ Tracy darts forwards with a yell, jumping to embrace a younger girl, and Louis’ glad that at least something’s worked out.

They’re the first thing Louis notices, and they shouldn’t be, he realises with dawning horror as he gazes round the room.

It must have been a research laboratory once – Louis stares round at the neat rows of lab benches – somewhere to help save people.

He takes a deep breath to steady himself and gags, leaning over and retching forcefully, only there’s nothing in him, so there’s nothing to come out of his parched mouth.

It seems though that the others haven’t had that problem. Liam’s coughing in the corner, and the smell of vomit, old and new, is sour on the back of Louis’ tongue, making his stomach lurch again. He fights his own urge to cough, wincing as his already painful chest is pulled tighter. Beside him, Harry’s panting in shallow, hitching breaths, and Louis sends out his hand, lacing their fingers together.

He wouldn’t know how to understand the smell, if he couldn’t see it all lain out in front of him, and maybe he wishes he couldn’t see it. Couldn’t comprehend the insidious, cloying, stench of it, creeping into his mouth, down the back of his throat. It smells like suffering. It smells like death.

There’s decay in there, the unmistakable tang of rotting meat and offal, and more – a rank, sewage-stale undercurrent, and at the back of it all, the sharp, metallic bite of far, far too much blood.

There’s a faint buzzing as Louis looks round; the first bench is unremarkable, filled with glass jars and beakers, a treasure trove in the remains of civilisation, but the other benches--

He takes a step forwards, his eyes refusing to focus too closely. To the side of him, Harry keeps pace, their hands still tightly linked.

The rows stretch out before them like some sick, Sci-Fi thrilller, all mysterious glass jars and body-shaped lumps.

Louis steps forwards again.

Only in the movies they’re usually covered, clinical.

He turns. The second bench is topped with several large mounds of raw, red meat, and seems to be the source of the buzzing. He takes another step, staring at it in confusion – the lumps are oddly shaped, and his brain is telling him that he knows what they are, only it isn’t telling him _what they are._ The source of the buzzing is clear at least – he chokes again as a cloud of angry black flies crawl over their prize. He looks harder, forcing his eyes to watch, his head to fill in the blanks.

It klicks into place suddenly, jarringly, and once he’s seen it he can’t turn it off. Louis stumbles back with silent horror.

They’re bodies – or at least, parts of bodies. Now that he can see them he can recognise the bits – a ribcage, brown with decay, an arm, fresher; red, torn, a leg; a single patch of pink amongst the rendered meat with a dark dusting of wiry hair. The flies have settled on the putrefying lumps, and as he leans in, his eyes settle on a teeth-white cluster of wriggling maggots.

He gags again, tugging Harry away and taking another step, bumping into the bench behind. He spins, prepared for something equally horrifying, only this time it’s just a cluster of jars – neatly arranged and filled with pale lumps of an off yellow-liquid.

He shouldn’t look.

He doesn’t want to look.

Louis leans forwards to squint into the murk, trying desperately not to hear the buzzing that’s somehow settled inside his head, joining the dry rasping that he knows will follow him to his grave.

They’re pieces of something, but he can’t tell what. He steps away and turns to the next bench. Beside him Harry’s staring fixedly at the table of body parts, his eyes wide, and Louis pulls him along, tugging him away until they’re walking slowly down the rows towards the double doors at the end. He can’t save Harry from having seen it, but he can make sure that they spend as little time as possible in this place.

The remaining tables are all full. _Bodies_. That much he can tell. They lie atop the remaining seven benches, two per surface, side by side, and Louis wishes this were a movie. He wishes they were covered in crisp white sheets and he didn’t have to see.

The first set have been partially dissected, their ribs cracked open and skin peeled back, organs out and neatly arranged along the table. Their eyes have been closed, and Louis can at least be grateful for that.

The next two are more whole, but worse somehow. Louis doesn’t know what Simon was trying to achieve, but their faces are blank and staring, eyes and mouths open, freshly dead maybe. Nether have tongues, he notes dizzily, and their arms and legs – obvious in their nakedness, have been pulled until they hang limply from the joints, strings of sinew stretched beneath torn skin.

Harry’s hand is shaking in his, and Louis doesn’t know why they have to do this, but somehow they have to see. They have to know what he’s doing. Only his chest is heaving and his heart is throbbing and he isn’t sure if he wants to vomit, pass out, or just cry.

It’s too much. It’s all too much. He swallows painfully around his dry, swollen tongue. How could someone do this?

He pulls Harry roughly past the next table, not willing to rest his eyes on dead, skinless corpses. Not willing to consider why Simon had wanted to skin them. Not wanting to have those images in his head.

There are four benches left. Four benches, eight bodies.

Louis looks over, scanning them all. They’re clothed still, and there’s something not right here, something that makes Louis’ survival instincts scream. They’re laid neatly on the tables, and their eyes and mouths are closed. They look so peaceful. Calm.

Something’s not right, but he has to understand. He has to know. Hysteria is threatening to take him over again, and he can feel his mouth stretched into a wide, toothy grimace; a sick parody of a smile. Beside him, Harry’s still trembling, his eyes wide and his cheeks wet.

They look so life like. If they didn’t have their heads open, he might even think they were alive.

Louis moves cautiously, peering at where hair and skin have been scraped away, where the smooth edges of sawn bone are stark against the grey brain matter.

He’s seen brains, or at least, he’s seen films, pictures.

They aren’t like this. They aren’t jagged and torn.

He turns to stare back at the jars on the other side of the room – the jars with their mysterious pale lumps.

 _Parts of brains._ His head is swimming, and the air feels hot.

He squeezes Harry’s hand, and it’s limp in his own, it’s owner lost somewhere in his own head, but it grounds Louis a little.

So Simon’s been harvesting these people. It makes a twisted sort of sense, Louis realises dimly. The parasite reproduces in brain matter. He pulls Harry down past two more and a sudden movement gets his attention. He stares for a moment, trying to work out what it was.

One of the bodies blink ~~s~~.

_They’re alive._

Louis leaps back, startling Harry into staring at him with those wide, panicked eyes.

“They’re alive.” He chokes.

It takes a while for it to register, but Louis sees exactly when it does; pain and understanding flashing through Harry’s face before he quickly spins to the nearest body, leaning over it as Louis waits; shaking and desperate and praying to be proven wrong.

But Harry’s only there for a few seconds before he’s shaking his head, spinning to face Louis. “It’s not. It’s not Louis. It’s cold.”

Louis raises a shaky hand over the one that blinked. “This one.” His voice is hollow in his ears and his head is rushing; bright specks dancing in front of his eyes, but he quickly scans the rest of them. “Only this one.” He should be relieved, he _should_.

Harry barely leans over before he freezes. “I don’t—I can’t—Louis? It’s alive. Louis? Louis, it’s alive. How is it still alive? It’s—Louis?”

Louis can’t hardly see through his fractured vision, and he’s on the edge of passing out, but he moves forwards anyway, squinting at the bodies.

And with a twisting rush, he realises what’s wrong with the rest of them. “They’re still bleeding. Harry—Their heads.” He stares, wishing for his brain to just switch off, but he can’t un-see it now. _That’s_ what was wrong. Around the creatures’ gaping heads, blood slowly seeps from the cut skin.

“He’s only just done this.” Harry whispers brokenly. “He did this for us to see. He did it while they were alive.”

Louis stares, and he must be in a dream. Surely this is a dream. This whole thing is – the parasite, his family dead? It’s a dream, it must be. Those blinking eyes are open wide, and as he stares, some spark of life leaves them. _It’s dead._

The relief is like a battering ram, but it can’t force away the churning panic in his head.

_Please let it be a dream._

Louis clears his throat, letting the dream play out. “He’s harvesting parasites from succumbed brains. Keeping them alive for as long as possible.” An old news broadcast swims briefly into his dream state, information that he hadn’t understood the importance of at the time. “It can only reproduce in fresh tissue.”

Louis looks again at the jars as the pieces slide into place. So Simon keeps them alive for as long as possible so that the parasite has time to fully overcome the immune system, and then he cuts out the tissue while it’s still fresh. While it’s still _alive,_ and puts the brain in fluid so that the parasite can reproduce faster.

It’s a harvest.

_And then he infects people with it, turning them into those creatures._

The room is still almost silent, just the faint crying of a survivor in the background.

The crackle of speakers makes them both jump.

“Still with us then Louis? Jolly good.”

_It’s a dream. Just a dream._

Harry takes his hand again, rubbing his thumb over and over. Louis can feel the man shaking.

“I assume you’re in one of my labs by now. Did it get your heart beating? Can you feel the adrenaline? It’s terrifying isn’t it, the things I’ve been doing.”

There’s a deep rumbling that Louis realises is coming from Harry. A growl almost. The hand that’s on his tightens.

“I bet you’re furious. Anger and fear all mixing together. You won’t fight me though.” Simon taunts, and it’s twisted, it’s sick. Louis wants to wash away his words, to peel this place off of his skin, but it’s clinging to him like oil.

He tries to swallow, but his throat is parched, and his tongue is aching, and he’s suddenly reminded that he’s sick. He’s ill, and injured, and exhausted, and it’s not a dream.

Tears of frustration and disgust prick at the back of his eyes.

“You won’t fight me. Not even for this. Not even you Louis.” Louis shivers, the words like melting ice sliding down his spine. If only Simon would stop using his name. He might be braver if Simon would stop using his name. “Not once you know the truth. You see, I know something you don’t. Something no one knows. Just me and Zayn here. Say hi Zayn.”

There’s silence, but Harry squeezes his hand, and it gives Louis courage.

Somewhere behind him he can hear sobbing, and some of the other survivors are following them down between the benches, staring in horror.

Simon laughs. “Oh, and Greg. Greg’s here too, but he looks a bit green. I don’t think he expected to see the results of his little betrayal.” Simon chuckles again. “You shouldn’t blame him though. He’s really quite upset about it, and he had good reasons. Like I said Louis, you’ll all go along with me once you know the truth.”

Louis’ whole body is cold, and there’s a fine trembling running through his arms. _Greg?_ He’s never trusted Greg, but something about the way Simon’s talking makes his blood ice over. _Greg,_ _what have you done?_

His eyes flick to the people huddled in the corner, and one or two faces stare back angrily.

“It’s the right thing to do Louis, to make sure that you’re all strong.” He pauses, as if choosing his words carefully. “I’m turning you into _survivors._ ”

 _We’re already survivors._ Louis wants to throw something. Wants to track down Simon and break that wide smile.

“Just think of it like a vaccine. You get high doses of parasite, along with high doses of adrenaline so your body can fight it. One dose of parasite, then a few hours later, repeated doses of adrenaline, perfectly timed. Of course, the adrenaline’s the hard part. We can’t just inject you these days, but it _works._ My test subjects have survived for days Louis. Your immune system gets strengthened, and you don’t have to worry anymore. Well, if you survive.”

 _Oh god._ He was right then. _That’s what he’s doing with the parasite. He’s feeding it to people._

Louis hadn’t known there’d been so much noise. He really hadn’t registered the sounds of their small group before they stopped in sudden, perfect silence. Simon’s words suddenly reassembling into devastating sense.

_What._

“I know you won’t like it Louis – perhaps even less now that you see how we get our supplies, but it had to be done. You’ll be stronger for it. You won’t have to be afraid of the parasite anymore. You’ll be survivors.”

Louis swallows.

His mouth is dry.

“It replicates much better in live cultures you know, and then we just remove the tissue--” _Brains._ Louis’ stomach is twisting. “Crush it--” _Brains._ His chest is tight. “And mix it in with something. Usually something wet.”

 _Brains._ Louis shakes his head. _It’s not real. It’s not real._

He swallows.

His mouth is dry.

“And then we let the test subjects consume it.”

_No, no, no, no, no. It’s a dream. It’s all a dream._

“I think Greg used stewed apples. Is that right Greg?”

 _No_.

Something crawls up Louis’ throat. Something to choke on. Something like thick bile wrapped around a scream. He thinks of the last meal he had at their compound. Right before the fighting started. Right before the _first dose of adrenaline_. He thinks of the vegetables and strange apple mush that came out of the kitchen. That came out of the kitchen that _Greg_ was in charge of.

He thinks about the parasite, and the survivors, and the _brains._

He thinks about himself, Harry, all of them. Lux.

 _Zayn got to her in time. Liam said Zayn got to her in time._ The relief hits him in a scalding wash. She’s safe. At least one of them is safe.

“I don’t like having to do this to you, you know. Having to bring you here, to keep you so afraid.”

More silence, and Louis can feel it clinging to his parched throat.

“But we have to keep you’re adrenaline up for it to work.”

Louis can’t see, he can’t breathe, he can’t think.

“We have to keep you in a state of high stress so that you don’t succumb--”

The pounding of his heart has taken over all of his senses, only there’s something—something creeping, something insistent, something that he’s felt building and building as they’ve ran through Simon’s house of horrors.

He’s so hot, and he’s so thirsty. Oh god he’s thirsty.

“Do you understand Louis?”

Louis swallows.

He’s so thirsty.


	19. It all comes out in the wash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Blood, gore, violence, death (minor characters), cliffhanger
> 
> Trust me?

_The antidote._

Action comes back with a crash as their group starts moving, starts _panicking._

 _The antidote._ Louis darts towards the end set of double doors, struggling angrily with the solid metal of the padlock.

_We need more antidote._

Harry’s frozen, and when Louis rushes back the man seems to be in some sort of trance. “Louis? Louis, Lux. Lux is infected.” His voice is hollow and his eyes are confused and Louis tugs at his arm, trying to bring him back.

“She isn’t, she’s safe.” He tugs harder. “Harry, she’s safe. Liam told us Zayn got there in time. She’s safe!”

Harry frowns and nods, but Louis gets the feeling that he hasn’t heard him. Not really.

Liam comes up behind them, pale and shaky. “Simon said we shouldn’t tell you – I’m so sorry-- I didn’t know if it would make a difference or not, so I didn’t say anything. I don’t really understand that stuff--” Liam hangs his head.

The three of them stare at the floor, caught in their thoughts as behind them, people panic. Liam hugs his arms around himself before continuing quietly. “Zayn couldn’t stop it. He said Simon dosed you all with the parasite, and he couldn’t stop it. But Lux’s safe, he made sure she was safe.”

“He saved her.” Harry mutters.

Liam nods. “She’s ok.” He takes a step forwards, but it’s Louis he comes towards, brushing his knuckles down his arm; a familiar gesture that makes Louis’ throat tight. “We can’t stay here. You’re both infected. We need to keep your adrenaline up.”

The world comes roaring back to Louis – all noise and fear and shouting.

_It’s too late._

He’s so thirsty, and now he knows why.

He keeps his mouth shut, staring at the pieces of brain matter floating in glass beakers. He still can’t take his eyes of them.

_Water. Thirsty._

“I’m not infected.” Harry rushes out, finally coming back to himself. “Simon said it was in the apple stuff Greg made, and I didn’t eat any of it. I didn’t eat anything, there wasn’t time.”

“Ok thank god.” Liam sags in relief and something tight and heavy unwinds in Louis’ stomach. Harry’s going to survive. Lux will still have her father.

“Louis?”

There’s nothing he can say. Nothing he can do. He shuts his eyes and swallows dryly, remembering how he’d struggled to choke down the cold green mush. He’s so hot, and it’s starting to make his head spin, to make the walls bend and twist. “The key.” He croaks out instead. “Liam, we need to get out of here, we need to find the antidote.”

But then Louis isn’t getting out of here, is he? At least, not without the antidote. His throat tightens. Not alive.

_Water._

There’s a lull as their group realises that there’s nothing they can do, as one by one they turn to Harry -- all except Liam, who’s staring at Louis with frightened, wild eyes.

Harry’s own gaze is trained firmly on the floor but as Liam unlocks the door, Harry turns to call out to the group. “Everyone find a way out, try to help each other—help anyone you think might be succumbing. Make them run, climb, anything. Just keep their heart rates up.” He lifts his head then, and his eyes are red-rimmed; Louis’ heart does something complicated and painful. “We’re going to find more antidote.”

\--

They run. They run hard and fast and it seems to go on forever. Every time Louis thinks he’s too exhausted, too hot, too thirsty, Harry yanks him, drags him along, shouts at him, pushes him. The rest of the group are following them, and Louis knows it hadn’t been Harry’s intention, but it might be better this way. It might be safer, to keep them all together.

Liam’s leading them on, leading them to Simon, and the residual ache of losing the man is still competing with the sting of betrayal, but Louis thinks that maybe he’s going to forgive him.

If he makes it.

If he makes it, he might even forgive Zayn.

He slows his pace to a walk, panting harshly, and his head is swimming, and his eyes are aching, and maybe his body hurts, but he isn’t sure.

In the corner of his vision, something moves.

“Harry--” He turns his head slowly, trying to catch whatever it was. “Did you see? Harry?”

And there’s a sound; like the rasping screams, but louder, wetter, like blood dripping down vocal chords. “Harry, what is that!?”

He spins, and the creature moves again, spinning with him, always just out of sight. It’s one of Simon’s creatures, it must be, and they’re getting faster, smarter. His stomach lurches at the sudden movement. “Harry?”

“Louis?” Harry’s voice is tight, frantic.

Someone grabs his shoulder, and the hands are cold and clammy against his skin. He jumps back quickly, and from the corner of his eye, the patch of dark gets bigger. _Rasp, squelch, scream._ It moves again.

The rest of the group is hovering, cowering against the wall, and Louis doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

_I can’t save you._

Harry catches his wrist and pulls. “Louis? Louis you need to run! Louis!”

Louis spins again, twisting in Harry’s grip. The creature is still on the edges of his vision, hiding in the shadows. He wants to run, they all need to run, but he’s so hot and his head is swimming and his body isn’t working properly.

“Harry?” His legs won’t move and his feet won’t lift.

“Louis you need to run!” Harry yanks at his arm, pulling him stumbling forwards, and the creature darts across his vision.

“Harry, behind you! Harry!” It’s circling them, melting back and forth down the corridors, always just out of sight. Louis turns to follow it and the walls seem to bow, seem to bend and stretch to make room for it. _Simon what have you done?_

Harry shakes him, hard. “Louis you need to run! Now!”

 _I know!_ Only Louis’ mouth won’t open; lips glued together, jaw wired. _It’s the heat, it must he the heat._ His vision blurs. Something moves behind him, and Louis can smell it rotting, decaying, dying.

“Louis please!” Harry’s screaming at him, tears rolling down his cheeks, and he can feel it’s breath on the back of his neck, but his legs won’t move.

Harry’s crying, and Louis’ heart is breaking, but there’s nothing he can do. He’s trapped, and he’s too hot, too ill, too thirsty.

 _I’m so sorry._ He manages a step, looking around at their panicked huddle. Why isn’t anyone else moving? Why aren’t they saving themselves!? _Please don’t die for me._

“Louis now!” Liam shouts desperately at him.

His head is thumping, echoing his racing heart. “Liam.” His voice is dry, cracked, broken. There’s a whisper of movement from behind him, and Louis tenses, waiting, but nothing happens.

_Where is it?_

The breath fades from the back of his neck, and Louis is shaking so hard that he isn’t sure how he’s still standing, but he has to see.

_Come on--_

He forces himself around, just glimpsing the creature as it vanishes down the corridor; a dark blur of red and brown. He grits his teeth, sucking in short, hissing breaths, and waiting one minute, two, three. _It’s gone, it’s gone._ He turns back, searching for Liam, for Harry, only now something else’s not right.

Everyone’s staring at him, and Harry--

_Harry?_

His stomach goes cold as Harry advances. Or-- he _looks_ like Harry, only it’s not the man he knows in front of him.

 _Harry._ His eyes burn. _Please._

“Louis.” The voice is dangerous, cold, and when Louis looks at him, Harry’s eyes are the blank mask of the compound leader.

Louis’ heart beats faster and his legs are twitching, telling him to run. They need to go, before it comes back. Only Harry’s advancing, teeth bared, and Louis’ stomach is twisting at the new threat that’s apparent in every line of the man’s strong body.

_Please._

“I told you to run Louis.” That cold voice continues. “You had one thing to do. One job, and you couldn’t even do that right. You’re useless, you’re a waste of resources. You should have died with the rest of your family.”

Louis chokes, bile rising in his throat. His legs are working again, and now he’s the one begging to run, but he still can’t get his voice to work, and he’s doesn’t know what to do. _Harry, please._ He can’t listen to this. He can’t. Not from Harry.

 _You should have died with the rest of your family._ Louis stumbles. His family’s dead? His body flushes hot, that can’t be right. He’s so confused. Why is everything so confusing?

Something screams again and Louis flinches, holding his breath, his heart thudding, but the creature doesn’t come back.

_We need to go._

Harry darts forwards, and Louis brings his arms up instinctively. _No!_ A strong hand slams him into the corridor wall as the man’s wet, angry eyes pin him down.

“Harry?” He’s shaking, and his head hurts, and he’s so hot he’s burning. He must be burning. Louis’ head jerks down but there’s no smoke yet. Why is Harry doing this? He wouldn’t—Harry wouldn’t!

“I told you to run.” Harry is looming over him, and Louis’ heart thunders.

He should have run, he should have, the creature could have killed him, but his feet weren’t working and he couldn’t.

He keeps his mouth shut and his eyes down.

_Don’t make eye contact._

Harry’s expression is cold and it’s breaking Louis, cracking him down the middle, and he thinks he should be dizzy from it only there’s something—Something about Harry’s looming presence is clearing his vision, and suddenly Louis is terrified all over again.

He’s so hot, he’s _too_ hot.

A shiver runs through him. _The parasite. Adrenaline_.

He’s hot because he’s _succumbing_.

“Harry?” His voice is stronger now, and when Harry’s eyes meet his, the cold melts away and he’s left looking into the frightened eyes of the man he knows. The man who’s trying to save him.

“Louis? Lou? Are you back?”

Louis nods hesitantly, and he can see the apology in those eyes, the pain.

“Lou, please run?” Harry’s voice cracks.

Louis flinches. There’s so much he wants to say. So much he _should_ say if this is how it’s going to end, but he’s so hot, and he’s so thirsty.

The walls bow and somewhere behind them, the creature screams.

Louis runs.

\--

He doesn’t know how far he gets before his legs start to slow again, before his thoughts are telling him to rest, to drink, and that he’s just tired.

Something makes a noise behind him, and he stumbles. It’s wet, and rasping, and Louis has heard it before. _The creature._

It’s following them, stalking them, _hunting_ them. Louis can feel it; sending sharp little jolts down his spine, and he can smell it. He shuts his eyes, and the sound’s even louder, that gurgling, draining, drag.

A footstep echoes down the corridor, and then another.

He turns, but there’s nothing. _It’s too clever._

“Harry?”

“Louis!” Harry jogs back to him, leaving the small group, clustered in front of a set of padlocked double doors.

Louis takes a slow step away from them, turning away to squint down the corridor. _The creature_. It’s there, at the end, in the dark. He can see it twitching. He can see it breathing; its dark chest heaving in the shadows.

“Louis!” Harry yanks on his arm, pulling him stumbling back. Louis thinks it probably should have hurt.

He glances down at himself and there’s blood seeping into his jumper. _Stitches._ He remembers absently. The wet blood catches the faint light trickling in through the dirty window. Harry’s eyes are wide and panicked, and Louis thinks the man might be apologising to him, but he doesn’t know why, and Harry’s voice is confusing and slurred in his ears.

He shivers. The creature isn’t moving, but he can hear it breathing. Loud, struggling breaths.

Heat washes over him, making him tremble.

_The parasite._

_Adrenaline._

Awareness slams back into him. His body’s succumbing. It’s _failing_.

He waits, but the creature’s just standing there, shaking, gasping.

_I can’t end up like that._

He spins, suddenly more afraid of his future than of the creature in front of him. _I’d rather be torn apart._ “Harry--” He stares shakily at the man in front of him. At least Harry’s ok. At least Lux will have a father. These people will have a leader. It’s just—He doesn’t want to end this way. “Harry.” He tries to plead, only he doesn’t have the words.

_Please do something._

Harry takes a step towards him, and his eyes are hard, but he isn’t threatening, not like last time.

Louis is expecting it when he’s slammed into the wall.

He isn’t expecting the kiss.

There are tears running down Harry’s face, but the kiss is hard, aggressive, and Louis pulse rockets up, only he isn’t sure if it’s fear or something else.

Behind him the creature pants, but it keeps its distance. Watching. Considering.

“Adrenaline. You just need adrenaline.” Harry mutters against his mouth, and Louis shudders, lets Harry manhandle him, lets Harry press into him.

He shudders, his thoughts clearing a little more. _The antidote._ They can still find the antidote. There’s still time.

Maybe he doesn’t have to die?

Only it’s wet.

The kiss, and the tears. It’s all so wet, and warm, and a sharp craving tears through Louis’ head because he’s so thirsty. He’s so very thirsty. He just needs a drink. He needs to get his head wet, that’s all, he’ll be fine if he just gets his head wet.

_Water._

“Lou? Louis! Louis!” Harry’s eyes are wide and frantic, and Louis wants to tell Harry that he’s going to be all right, but he isn’t, and he wants to tell Harry that the antidotes will work, only he doesn’t know if they will.

Harry kisses him again, pushing forwards, pressing their bodies together, dragging his hands through Louis’ hair, long and searching and thorough. Louis shudders, and it’s wet, it’s too wet, but then Harry pulls back, covering his lips with small closed-mouthed kisses. And this time, it’s dry. It’s dry, and Harry’s mouth is cool against his. He lets himself fall into it, the rhythm, the softness. He lets himself respond matching pressure for pressure as his head clears. _Harry_. His lips are helping Louis to breathe again, and Louis could do this forever, and suddenly he’s struck by the thought that if this is really it – if he really has so little time left, then at least he had this before it was over. A tiny whine escapes him and Harry pulls back, leaning their foreheads together.

They take a moment, breathing together as Harry slides his hands down to grip Louis’ arms, and Louis is expecting something soft, something sweet, only with a sudden burst of speed, Harry wrenches him sideways, sending him tripping across the floor, sending his pulse racing for a whole new reason.

_What?!_

Harry tugs him again, dragging him stumbling along, and Louis finally looks up as more of his mind creeps back in.

_The parasite._

_The antidote._

_\--_

The creature’s gone. There’s no sign of it – no sound.

He takes in the corridor, the single dirty window, the set of battered double doors, and suddenly, he knows this place. He knows where they are. And suddenly, he knows what’s coming.

_No! Not now!_

His heart leaps into his mouth, and it clears more of the fog from his brain. “Wait. Wait!” He pulls Harry to a stop, just as Liam clicks the padlock open. “I have to tell you--” He’s panting, and he’s so very hot, his vision is swimming, but he’s himself again, he can think again. “Before you see—Harry. I have to tell you.”

_You should have told him before._

It’s all coming back now; the times that he’d tried to tell Harry, how afraid he’d been, and suddenly he remembers that there’s more to this than just water and heat and creatures. Louis shudders.

The group is staring at him, and Louis doesn’t understand when he got this much power, but Liam is nodding, his face pale, and there’s sweat dripping down his forehead. _Wet_. “They should know before they go in. We need to tell them. They should know.”

Louis pulls his eyes away, his heart twisting. He doesn’t know how to say it, but Liam’s staring at him with desperate expectancy, and maybe someone else could do it better, but there’s no one else here.

He hesitates, but when he opens his mouth the words are there, and he’s so relieved he could scream. “Simon’s breeding people who’ve succumbed. It’s where the babies came from.” He hesitates, taking a deep shaky breath, but they need to know the truth. Harry should know the truth. _Even if he hates me for it_. “It’s where Lux came from.” He finishes.

There’s probably more to say, but he can’t swallow to clear his throat and what would he say anyway? He doesn’t know how to comfort. Not anymore.

“Louis.” Harry’s words are slow, careful. “Lauren gave birth to Lux, we were there. It’s ok, you’re just sick and confused.”

Louis’ heart picks up, and the wash of anger is so very welcome. He grits his teeth. After all his stress, his fear, his panicked failed attempts to tell the man and Harry doesn’t even believe him.

The anger is stupid and childish, but Louis is too hot and too thirsty and his strength is finally failing him. He opens his mouth, and he doesn’t know what to say, but he has to say something.

Only there’s a screech of claws on metal, and all at once Louis’ anger freezes into ice cold fear. He turns slowly, and the creature’s back, and as it steps forwards he can finally see it clearly.

Its eye sockets are empty, gaping red wounds dug into its face, but it can still see. Louis knows it can still see. It tilts its head, and Louis can feel it studying him, assessing him. Its nose is missing. Another red scar on its face, and its lips are bloody.

Louis looks down, and his chest is so tight that he’s dragging in the barest traces of air, dark spots clustering at the edges of his vision.

Its got no skin.

He looks back up again. Its naked, only there’s no evidence of what sex it might have been, and it’s raw, open body has deep gouges torn into the muscles, blood running in rivulets down to the floor, pooling at its feet.

Louis can’t breathe. _Simon what have you done?_ How could he do this? How is this creature still _alive_?

Louis legs are weak, and his head is spinning. _Its been flayed._ Its mouth opens – bloody head tilting back as another wet shriek comes from its mouth. It stares at Louis with its eyeless face and takes a staggering step forwards, and then another.

The screech comes again, claws tapping. Louis’ stomach twists, and his eyes focus on its skinless, bleeding feet.

 _It doesn’t have claws._ He swallows. _There’s something else here._

More tapping.

Louis looks past it, and his body seizes.

A dog.

It’s a dog. And it’s starved - so emaciated that it’s sides are caved in, and when Louis looks closer, he can see that’s it’s stomach’s been torn out; the ends of intestines dangling uselessly at its feet. _No… How is it still alive?_ Louis’ head spins. He doesn’t understand this; he doesn’t understand any of this! The dog takes a step closer; yellow teeth bared, eyes wide with madness, only-- its so familiar. Louis sucks in a gasping, shuddering breath. _The one that bit me._ Louis grasps his bleeding forearm instinctively, jolting as the ripped stitches. _Simon what have you done?!??_

He takes a step back, and the two advance, the dog and the creature, heedless of each other, single minded, deadly.

A shout catches in his throat as Louis takes another shaking step backwards. This can’t happen. They can’t let this happen. They have to find Simon, and he has to find the antidote.

He stumbles, slightly.

_No!_

The creature runs.

It’s running flat out towards them, the dog launching itself forwards to join in, gurgling snarls joining the screams in a wet, desperate battle cry.

Louis’ can’t move, he can’t move, he can’t move.

He’s going to die.

“Louis!” Harry’s shout drags him back, sparking a burst of adrenaline that rushes to his legs.  

With a shout, Louis spins and drags Harry through the doors.

\--

They fall shut behind him with a solid clang, and Louis waits.

_Nothing._

_Nothing._

Minutes tick by, and nothing happens. _They aren’t following._ Louis breathes a shuddering sigh of relief.

He can hear the group trailing behind him as he moves further into the room, and it suddenly occurs to him they might be horrified, but there’s no sound other than their footfalls.

Louis stares at the floor. He can’t look up, because it’s too terrible, and he can’t look back, because somehow he’s still mad at Harry. The anger’s sitting heavy in his stomach. Or maybe it’s guilt, he flinches. He should have sat Harry down and explained properly. When they had time. When he could really listen.

The dry rasping sound of screams are the same, and the beds are there, just the same, and he can see dark shapes in the corners of his vision. But at least it’s not the other creatures. At least they’re still outside.

A hand lands on his shoulder, spinning him around, and another aching wash of panic and fear and guilt and _shame_ threaten to overtake him, but at least he feels a little more like himself again.

“Louis? Louis what is this?” Harry’s hand is shaking, and there’s anger in his voice, anger, or disgust maybe.

“Simon’s breeding room.” Louis’ voice is shaky, painful. He swallows dryly.

Harry’s hand tightens as his eyes sweep the room, and Louis can see how hard he’s working to control himself. To stand there this calm while the group around them fall to their knees.

“These people…?”

“Succumbed.”

_Like me._

Harry shakes his head. “Why would he do this? I don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense.”

 _Why didn’t you tell me?_ Louis can hear it, even if Harry isn’t saying it.

“Because it works.” He ignores the unasked question. What would he say? The bags of saline still hang from each patient, dripping fluid slowly into them. Louis tries to take a step but he’s held firm by Harry’s grip.

“It doesn’t matter if it works.” Harry snaps, but his hand loosens, squeezing faintly, his thumb rubbing endless circles on Louis’ shoulder. Louis takes it as an apology. “There’s no reason good enough for this.” Harry breathes.

Louis looks back at the man, remembering his earlier fears. “What if it were the only way?” He asks quietly, his heart racing in his chest.

“You’re defending this?” Harry’s thumb stops moving, and Louis shakes his head slowly.

“Never.” He breathes shakily, and maybe he should say more, but he can’t get the words out. He can’t articulate the decision that they’ll have to make. _Live as monsters or die human._

“You’re wrong” Harry’s voice is trembling, and so very angry. “This isn’t the only way. Lauren was healthy when she had Lux.” His hand drops, balling into a fist at his side. “This isn’t the only way.” He grits out.

_He still doesn’t believe me._

Louis’ own anger reignites, rushing up to meet Harrys’, and he pulls his eyes from where they’d wandered to the bags of saline, back to the man in front of him. He opens his mouth, determined to make him see, only he doesn’t get the chance.

“She didn’t give birth to Lux.”

_Zayn._

They both startle as the man steps from the shadows at the opposite end of the room, arms wrapped protectively around himself.

Louis shuffles his feet, his anger fading a little as Harry turns his focus on someone else. He tugs at the collar of his jumper. The heat’s making it hard to breathe.

In the corner of the room, something moves.

“We lied.” Zayn mutters, coming a little closer, and Louis thinks he might look sad, but he doesn’t really know the man’s face. “I’m so sorry Harry. It was Lauren’s idea. Lux’s biological mother was one of the test subjects-- One of the first actually. She gave birth and Lux was healthy and we didn’t know what to do. This--” He gestures at the room surrounding them. “All this. It’s monstrous. It isn’t human. We couldn’t let Simon carry on.”

“So you lied.” Harry breathes, and he’s so still. So very still, but the anger is there in the lines of his body.

The shadows in the corner shift, and Louis’ chest starts to tighten again. _No._

“We did. We were lucky that Lauren got pregnant at around the same time.” Zayn frowns and shakes his head. “She said we were lucky, but she got pregnant just after the first trials started. I always wondered if she timed it on purpose. She was an amazing scientist, I think she knew that Simon’s plan would work. She never said, but I think it might have been her idea, but then I suppose she saw the results and--” He trails off, gesturing around the room.

Louis shuts his eyes for a moment and tries to think about what Zayn said.

Harry’s shaking his head, but Louis thinks things might finally be making sense. Lauren must have started experimenting, and then realised just how horrible it was. She must have been terrified when she saw it was working – when she saw what she’d done, so she’d tried to pretend that it had failed.

The shadow in the corner deepens.

Zayn comes a little closer, “Most of the babies from the first trials died. All but one.”

“Lux.” Harry whispers, and Louis can see him shaking now.

“We had to pretend.” Zayn keeps his voice low, but the rest of their group are clustering round. “We told Simon they’d all died, and we pretended Lauren had given birth already. She was sick anyway, some auto immune thing; that’s why Simon gave her permission to try for a baby, she was going to die, once her medicine ran out. She convinced him to let her come to the compound and give birth there… die there. She said she preferred it to the hospital.”

“She did it so Simon wouldn’t see she was still pregnant.” Harry mutters beside him.

The shadow moves again, and Louis sees an arm this time, and it’s clawed, and skinless.

The creature.

_How did it get in here? How could it have gotten in here?_

Zayn nods. “We thought it’d worked. We got Lux away before Simon saw and told everyone that she’d died, then we brought her here. Lauren had her own baby and we pretended it was Lux. Simon saw Lauren a few times but—we thought we’d gotten away with it.“

“And Laurens baby?” Someone whispers, and Louis keeps forgetting that the rest of the group is crowded around him, and he can’t understand why they aren’t reacting to the presence in he corner. The creature moves again, stepping forwards, letting the weak light of the room hit its face.

It grins.

“Laurens baby died.” Zayn hangs his head. “There was nothing we could do. Lauren looked after Lux for as long as she could before she died. She thought of Lux as her own.”

Harrys’ arms are wrapped around himself and he’s still shaking, and Louis wants to comfort him, only he isn’t sure how. “Lux was hers. Even if she didn’t give birth to her, Lux was hers.” Harry whispers.

Zayn nods, and his eyes are wet. Louis swallows dryly. He should tell them. He should say something about the creature.

It tilts its chin curiously. Louis shudders.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you Harry, but it was the safest way, it was the only way.” Zayn blinks, sighing heavily. “But it didn’t work. Lauren made me promise to stop this and I failed. All that work and it was for nothing. Simon refused to stop the trials, and he had too many people working for him, I couldn’t do anything.”

“So you brought us here.” Another voice says, and they’ve got the full audience now, all of them standing around with strained faces. Some angry, some tearful, some lost.

The creature takes a step out of the shadows.

 _Look at it!_ Louis wants to scream, but fear is pinching his throat.

“I wanted you to see.” Zayn turns to stare at the woman who spoke. _Tracy. She’s sensible. She’ll help._ “I thought that if you all came, if you saw, you might help me stop it.”

“But it’s been months--” Harry frowns.

Zayn shuts his eyes, his face pale. “I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry.” He stares at Harry with sad eyes. “Lauren died and I was alone and I didn’t know what to do. I kept planning, but nothing seemed good enough. But then Simon started spreading rumours, telling our compound that you’d been kidnapping people. And then when Louis showed up-- I saw an opportunity. I took it.”

_Why isn’t she helping?_

The creature throws it’s head back and lets out a shriek, it’s chest heaving.

_It’s laughing at me._

It takes another step forwards.

“So you told Harry Simon was coming for Lux so that he’d send someone to investigate?” Liam frowns in confusion.

 _Lux._ Something jog ~~’~~ s Louis memory, distracts him from the monster that no one else will notice. So his escapes hadn’t caused Simon to threaten to take Lux away, Zayn had made it up. He’d used it as an excuse to panic Harry into action.

His vision swims.

“And then Zayn helped Simon set our compounds against each other, knowing that we’d come here to find out what was going on. Covering both bases, just in case one didn’t work.” Tracy finishes.

Zayn nods.

“Did you know that Simon was going to dose us?” Harry’s sharp voice cuts through the ringing in Louis’ ears. The ringing and the buzzing and the frantic rasping screams of the creatures in the bed, mixing with the shrieks of the one that’s methodically plodding towards him.

 _Dose?_ A wash of fear stabs through Louis and his vision clears again. The parasite. He’s succumbing. He needs the antidote. Louis’ body is trembling. He’d forgotten. He needs the antidote.

Across the room, the creature cackles.

_Why is no one doing anything?_

A sudden thought comes to Louis and his chest constricts. _Maybe they’re in on it._

Zayn shakes his head, and then nods carefully. “He told me he’d sent someone to dose you, but he wouldn’t tell me who; his ‘vaccine’ idea. I couldn’t stop it – I only found out it was Greg when he came back.” Zayn squeezes his eyes shut. “I think Simon only told me so I’d keep Lux safe. He’s been keeping secrets, he--”

“Louis?” Simon’s voice drops through the speakers. Louis’ head clears a little further.

The creature freezes.

“You must be near me by now Louis. How are you feeling? Is Liam with you? Is Zayn?”

Beside him, he can see Harry trembling.

“Have they been talking about me?” Louis can hear the smugness in his voice. “I don’t think they like my work here Louis, but they’ll understand once they know the truth.” There’s a pause. “Zayn thinks you’re going to fight me. You won’t though, because I’ve got something to tell you. Hurry up and find me Louis, I think it’s time we all knew the truth.”

The PA system cuts off with a ringing silence, and Louis can feel all eyes turned on him.

“Why does he want you?” Someone asks, and they’re still ignoring the creature, pretending it isn’t there.

“I don’t know.” Louis’ head is spinning. _They’re on Simon’s side._

“Have you been helping him?” A voice accuses.

“No.” He’s so hot, and there’s so much noise, and the creature’s moving towards him again. Out of the corner of his eye, someone new darts into the room, but they’re healthy, whole. The creature laughs again.

“Louis? Louis?“

There’s a hand on his shoulder and he doesn’t know how it got there.

He’s losing time.

“Louis? Louis can you hear me?” Someone shakes him.

“I don’t know anything!” His head is spinning and he’s so hot, and so thirsty. ”I don’t know anything!”

The walls are bending again, melting and twisting. He blinks to clear his eyes but it doesn’t help. _You’re working for Simon._

There’s a commotion going on, and he’s closer to one of the saline drips than he thought he was, and suddenly there’s a hand slapping his face. He looks up in shock, and Zayn’s tugging at his shoulders, hitting him again, and behind him Greg is somehow in the room and he’s shouting, and struggling, pinned down by Harry and Liam.

“Zayn?” His tongue is thick, and he knows he should be afraid but he can’t remember why and he doesn’t know what just happened.

“Louis you need to find Simon.” Louis frowns at the dark eyed man, and then stares around the room at the creatures in the beds, at the people standing helplessly. He’s missing something. “Louis, you need the antidote. You need to find Simon. I don’t know where the antidotes are!”

The room seems to be calming down now that Greg is pinned, staring unblinkingly at one of the pregnant creatures, and there’s blood dripping from Harry’s nose that makes Louis’ chest clench painfully.

_Simon. The antidote._

_The creature._

He spins quickly, but somehow the creature’s gone again. He frowns. There was something—a thought—something important--

_Simon, the antidote._

“Louis you need to go now. Go!”

He swallows. He’s so thirsty. He’s so confused.

Louis runs.

\--

Louis runs, and the creature runs after him, always one step behind, always just on his heels. It pushes him forwards, forces his legs to move.

He didn’t see where it came from. Doesn’t know how long it’s been behind him.

He follows the sounds. There’s a hum that reminds him of electricity, and he follows it. Simon can’t be far. More locked doors line the corridor as Louis sprints down, his body thrumming with adrenaline, keeping the heat at bay.

There’s a light.

An electric light, and an open door. He jogs through it.

It’s a small room, yellow lit from a small electric light. Louis spins, and the walls bend, warping around the monster that’s blocking the doorway.

“You made it.” He spins back. At the far end of the room, Simon’s leaning against a broad wooden desk, long stemmed microphone resting casually on his thigh, and smiling in a way that makes Louis feel ill. “I wasn’t sure if you would.” He frowns. “Not looking so good though are you? Pale, sweating, shivers. Your temperature must be pretty high by now. Tell me Louis, are you hallucinating yet?”

The creature in the doorway shifts its flayed, eyeless body, and suddenly Louis knows how its alive, and he knows why no one else can see it.

It isn’t real.

It moves again, still staring at him, still panting those wet, struggling breaths.

_It isn’t real._

Louis’ body turns cold and then hot, and then cold. He’s burning and freezing and the creature just stands there. Patient. Calculating.

His stomach is hollow.

Louis shakes his head, trying to focus, trying to think. _Simon. The antidote._ And suddenly he’s angry. He’s furious. Because he doesn’t understand why he’s so special. Why Simon won’t just leave him alone. “Why me?” He spits out, turning his back on the creature.

_It’s not real._

Simon shrugs. “I like you Louis. Ever since we tagged you I’ve been watching. You were such a little fighter, I knew you’d last the longest and you absolutely did. No one else managed even half the time. Call me sentimental but I was proud of you.”

Louis feels sick. Sick and hot and dizzy.

_That’s it?!_

_That’s it?!!?_

There’s something moving in the far corner, something that catches his eye. A black screen with a blinking dot on it, it reminds him of a radar on a ship.

Simon follows his gaze and smirks. “I’m afraid we only had radio trackers Louis, very low tech. But they worked well enough.” He nods to where there’s a small hand-held device in front of the screen. “Long range and short. You were never really alone you know.”

Behind him, the creature roars. A shiver rips through him. _It isn’t real._

His chest tightens. His head is spinning and he can’t remember what he’s supposed to be doing here.

“You’re not doing so well are you?” Simon sighs. “No antidote until the truth’s out though, Louis. Not even for you.”

Louis shakes his head, trying to clear it. He’s so _thirsty_. “What truth?”

“Oh Louis, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the reason I brought you here?”

Anger rises up again, cutting a path to Louis’ thoughts. “You brought us here to scare us. You poisoned us. Half the compound’s succumbed!”

“I vaccinated you.” Simon snaps, rubbing a hand over his head. “And not half the compound, by my estimate we might lose five at most. Only the weak.” Louis can feel the weight of his eyes, running up and down his frame. He shivers. ”And injured.” He finishes.

 _Weak and injured._ Louis shivers again. He takes a deep breath and his ribs pull painfully, and his arm hurts, and his stitches, and his bruises and scrapes. He never stood a chance.

”I don’t like it, but it’s worth it to keep the rest of you safe.” Simon continues. “Anyway, back to my point; seeing as you are all here, I decided it was probably time for the truth. After all Louis, I need you to keep all this going if something happens to me.”

“I—,” Louis is so confused.

He’s so tired of being confused.

“We’d better make this quick shall we?” There are lines on Simon’s forehead, and Louis’ stomach turns because he thinks the expression on his face might actually be _concern_. _I’ll never work with you._

“Tell me Louis, before you found your last compound, how many people did you run into on your travels?”

Louis frowns, shaking his head. _What’s this got to do with anything?_ “I don’t know. I—A few.”

Simon nods. “And tell me, how many did you run into in the year after your last compound?”

Louis shuts his eyes. “None.”

“And why is that Louis?”

Louis snarls, opening them again. “You took them!”

Simon snorts, his face finally serious. “Imagine this Louis. Imagine a world where half the population in suddenly, ruthlessly wiped out. Not by anything you can fight. Not by anything you can see.”

Louis feels sick.

Behind him, the sound of wet breathing stops.

_It’s gone._

_It wasn’t real._

“Armies and vigilantes band together, trying to keep the peace, but people are still dying. People panic.”

Louis shuts his eyes.

“And then communications break down. There isn’t the man-power to maintain them anymore, we run out of electricity, we run out of fossil fuels.”

Louis knows this. He’s so tired of this.

“What do you do?” Simon doesn’t pause. “You keep people together, you keep contact with every facility, you encourage people to reproduce, you try to find a cure.”

Louis opens his eyes. The green dot on the screen is still blinking. He can’t look away.

“But people are still dying, and nothing’s working.” Simon sighs. “So people have to be _encouraged_ to breed. Morals have to be bent. Sacrifices have to be made. I’m sure you know how it goes.”

Louis can’t take his eyes off the green dot. _Sacrifices._ He’s so thirsty.

“And then someone suggests that adrenaline might be key, and so we test it. Rumours are spread, horror stories are whispered, fear is encouraged – Hospitals are bad. Hospitals are evil. They take people, experiment on people, they breed endlessly, experiment on babies—All to keep you just frightened enough. To give the human race something to fight for.”

The dot’s blinking, so Louis must still be here, must be ok. There’s only one dot though. _The last of the tag and release program._

“You’re afraid of my army, aren’t you Louis? After we destroyed your last compound, everything you had left?”

Louis shivers. The dot blinks.

“Where is my army Louis?”

Louis makes a small helpless sound.

“Where are my other compounds Louis?”

 _Explain faster. Please explain faster._ Simon said he’d give him water after he’d explained. He said he’d give him an antidote. He’s burning. There must be water.

“Please.” He rasps.

“Oh Louis.” Simon sighs heavily. “You’re so important to me. All of you. Each and every one of you matters, and do you know why?”

Louis shakes his head. _Faster. Water._

Simon leans forwards to whisper. “Because you’re the only ones left, Louis.”

Something clinches in Louis’ chest. He doesn’t understand.

_What?_

“Did you think I’d go to all this trouble for nothing? Do you understand how terrifying it’s been? Watching them all die one after the other? My compounds, my armies? There are sixty three people in young Harry’s compound. Sixty four counting you Louis. Five guards to help me with the patients. Forty three at my own compound, and me. One hundred and twelve people Louis. Sixty women and fifty two men. That’s all we could find. Everyone south of Birmingham.”

Louis’ mind whirrs. _That’s half of England. Half of England. Empty._

Simon speaks again, and he finally sounds angry. “This parasite _doesn’t stop_ Louis. It _never stops_. It’ll take us all, one by one, every last person until we’re extinct.” He snorts. “I think that’s worth a little immorality. I think that’s worth a little torture.”

The single green light is still blinking. Still alone. But Louis can’t accept it. _Maybe we should be extinct._

“You can’t do this to people.” He mutters, but it’s weak even to his ears, because the decision’s gone past difficult. It’s impossible. But how can this be the right choice when it makes him feel so sick?

Behind the screen, the walls bend.

 _It’s not real._ Fear stabs through him.

“It’s the only way Louis. It’s ok for people to know now. Now that it’s the only way. It’s this or extinction. Hiding it isn’t going to work anymore.”

Louis can’t stop staring at the lone green dot. “Then maybe we should all die.” He whispers.

Simon nods. “And maybe, people need to decide that for themselves.” His smile is gentle and it rolls his stomach, and Louis finally drags his gaze from his tracker, following Simon’s eyes to the shining, red light of the intercom system. “I wonder what they think?” He smirks as he lifts his finger off the button, finally switching it off. “Let’s see shall we?”

\--

_The microphone._

Louis is so confused, and so hot, and so afraid.

_There’s no one left._

He should feel grief. He should feel panic. And looking into Simon’s eyes it’s clear that they hold both of those things, and perhaps enough desperation and self-disgust to be considered madness.

He should be grieving, but he can’t understand it. He can’t get his head around the idea. _There’s no one left._

And now everyone knows.

He stares at the microphone. _Everyone knows._

Something clicks. Something sinks into place.

 _Everyone knows._ He doesn’t have to decide what the right thing to do is. It’s not up to him anymore. It’s not his burden.

His body relaxes, and with it, comes a sudden, overwhelming wash of heat.

Louis looks up back towards the door.

The creature’s back.

_It’s not real._

Louis looks around, searching for something, anything that might help him. The sound of loud footfalls reaches his ears, and he stares over at the door as Greg comes bursting through, running straight through the skinless monster that’s standing there.

_It’s not real._

“My sister!” He screams, and something’s trying to warn Louis, to tell him something, but he can’t think. “What have you done to her?! You monster! You promised you would let her die! Why is she in that room!? You promised me she would never end up in that room! You promised!”

Simon’s shouting back, and Louis thinks he hears the word _antidote_ , but his ears are rushing. Fear comes at him in waves, wash after wash, his heartbeat frantic. He’s hallucinating.

He’s dying.

He almost backs up as Greg runs towards him, but now his legs won’t move again, and as he looks up the dog’s there, standing in the doorway, crowding next to the creature. He shakes his head but everything’s still so confusing, and he’s so afraid.

His breath is coming in sharp, painful pants, and the walls are bending and he’s _dying._

“I’ll kill you! You made me poison them and she’s not even safe! How could you do this!?”

Louis hears his name, and he thinks maybe he hears _antidote,_ and maybe he hears _water_. He turns desperately, but then Greg’s surging past him, falling onto the wide-eyed profile of Simon, bearing the man to the ground. Kicking and screaming and punching and crying.

“What have you done!? What have you done!??”

Louis thinks he hears his name; thinks maybe someone’s calling for help, but it feels like it’s coming from somewhere down a deep tunnel, and he still can’t move.

He watches the fight, his stomach clenching at every vicious blow. Simon’s losing. _The antidote._ Fear slams into him again, stealing his breath, twisting his chest, but he still can’t move.

Simon’s punching back, teeth bared and eyes wide, but he’s stopped shouting, and his face is red, red and choked, and he isn’t going to win. Louis can see he isn’t going to win. His eyes prick with tears. _The antidote._

They roll along the floor, knocking into benches and tables and chairs, but it’s clear that Simon’s tiring – more used to doctoring the pregnant bodies than manual farm labour like Greg.

Louis starts to shake as the first tear falls. He’s so hot, and dizzy, and confused, and the creature is blocking the door and Simon’s losing and he doesn’t know what to do!

But there’s something in the shiny red liquid that’s beginning to paint the floor that catches his attention. Something he can’t take his eyes off.

It looks wet.

He’s so hot. _Maybe it’ll help?_ He can feel pieces of himself falling away, only he doesn’t know what they were once they’re gone.

Simon's hands come up to defend himself one last time as the world freezes around them and there's an expression Louis has never seen on his face before - some wide-eyed look of guilt and pain and fear and all Louis can do is beg any deity that might be listening that he never has to see a look like that again. Simon twists his head to stare at Louis, his expression slowly changing into something he thinks might be pleading, as if he's expecting Louis to do something, but Louis can only stare at the red that's dripping down his shaking face.

Greg rears up above Simon, all frantic bloody fists and crazed wide eyes, and the world speeds up again.

There's something he should say. Something he should do. But Louis doesn't know what it is anymore.

He keeps his eyes focused on Simon's as those heavy fists crash through his weak defense. Louis thinks he might even hear his name, whispered like water rushing over rocks, and Simon's eyes get impossibly wider, the red flowing freely now in broad stripes across his face.

Fists come down again, once, twice, and Louis can only stare in silent horror at the ruin of the man who caused so much pain.

"No!" The shout slips between his lips as Greg's fists come down again with a wet crack that echoes around the small room.

 _No._ He can't remember why Simon wasn't supposed to die, he can't remember anything, but the numbing fear in his stomach is telling him that something's just gone horribly, horribly wrong.

He feels it when Simon slips away. He sees it when those eyes turn from pleading to vacant.

He takes a step forwards as Simon falls still, as Greg gives a desperate yell, his two fists coming down one final time on the thing that used to be Simon. But it isn’t anymore.

It isn’t moving.

It isn’t breathing.

It isn’t Simon, anymore.

Something's gone wrong. Something's gone horribly wrong.

_Run._

He runs.

He’s out of the door and sprinting down the corridor before he can really register it. Before he can wonder where the creatures went.

_Simon’s dead._

_Simon’s dead._

He’s heading back to the others on auto pilot – back to Harry. _Harry’ll know what to do. Harry’ll make it better._

There’s noise at the end of the corridor though, and as Louis bursts around the corner he’s met with a sea of fighting.

Creatures fighting survivors.

Survivors fighting survivors.

He thinks maybe he should know why, but somehow he can’t remember.

And he’s so thirsty.

So hot.

He’s crying now and he hasn’t cried in years, and he’s choking on fear, only he can’t remember why. _Harry. I need Harry. He’ll keep me safe. He always keeps me safe._

He goes to sprint forwards again, but his feet slip, and as he looks down his face is reflected back at him in a pool of blood.

_Wet._

There’s a body lying on the ground, waves of red pouring from his battered head while the fighting carries on around them.

“Louis?”

Louis tries to look up to see where the voice came from, to see where Harry is. Only he can’t tear his gaze away, because the blood is pulsing out in a thick, steady trickle, and the only thing going through Louis’ mind is _wet._

He takes a stumbling step forwards, his stomach revolting at the thought, fighting his shaking legs. He takes one step, and then another.

_Water._

A fist crashes into the side of his head, rattling his vision, and someone’s shouting at him, accusing him of something, but he can’t understand it.

He thinks they might be blaming him.

There’s another shout, and something sails towards his head, only it never reaches him; a dark shape blocking its path as Louis takes another lurching step towards the body.

There’s so much blood, so much wet, and he’s so thirsty, and so hot— _I’m burning_ \--

Something slams into him from the side, and suddenly he can’t see it anymore, can’t see all that shiny red, but Liam’s in front of him, and there’s red on his face, and Louis thinks that there might be red under his skin too – that if he buries his hands in deep enough, there might be enough there to stop him from burning.

_Liam would understand. Liam would want to help. Liam would understand._

He takes a step back, another voice fighting to the surface.

_Not Liam._

_Liam would understand._

_Liam would_ die.

_Not Liam._

_Not Liam!_

Bile rises in Louis’ throat and he takes a step back, and another, and another.

_Not Liam._

_Not anyone._

Water. He needs water.

Louis runs.

\--

He’s out of the hospital before he really knows what’s going on, and he’s losing tiny pockets of time along the way, and he doesn’t know where he’s going, but some instinct is pulling him forwards. Leading him on.

The creature’s back, and it’s keeping pace with him.

Louis shuts his eyes. _It’s not real._

He reaches the mounds of earth, and something’s been digging at them, some animal, burying deep into the packed soil, and there are bones underneath, and suddenly Louis knows what they are.

_Mass graves._

So that’s where Simon is putting people once they aren’t useful for parts.

 _Not wet enough,_ his brain tells him as his stomach clenches at the thought.

The air is fresh and cold on Louis’ flushed skin, and it slows him a little, calms him a little, but he has to find water. He has to find water or he’ll burn.

He tries to swallow and chokes around his thick tongue.

The dog’s on the other side of him. Lolling along lazily with its torn stomach and vacant eyes.

_It’s not real._

His gut is still pulling him forwards, and some last shred of resistance finally slips away as he lets himself succumb to it.

And somehow, impossibly, his mind calms. _It’s going to be ok._

The dog and the creature jog slowly beside him. Companions now. _We’re the same._ The sightless face nods at him.

He’s still burning – his skin, but somehow it’s going to be ok. He’s burning, but he’s going to fix that, and he’s dehydrated, but he can fix that too.

He remembers being worried about Harry, but something tells him that isn’t going to be a problem anymore.

He remembers being in pain, but he can’t feel it over the burning, and _he’s going to fix that._

The dog barks at him and the creature hisses. Louis speeds up his walk, still trusting his instincts, still following his feet. The tarmac of the hospital compound turns into the tarmac of a road, and the road turns into a field, and the field turns into a forest.

He’s close.

They’re telling him he’s close.

He can see it through the trees.

The pond is big. Big enough to swim in.

He walks in purposefully, desperately, and frowns.

The creature’s gone. The dog’s gone. And the water hasn’t stopped the burning. He feels a stab of loss, and he hesitates, gentle ripples lapping at his ankles.

Something’s wrong.

He shouldn’t be doing this.

_But I’m burning._

He walks in a little further, the water rising above his knees.

He shouldn’t. He’s not supposed to be doing this. Surely he shouldn’t be doing this. His heart speeds up.

_But I’m so thirsty._

He takes another few steps. The water’s up to his waist, but it’s doing nothing. It’s not helping.

The creature’s gone, and the dog’s gone, and suddenly he’s so alone.

 _Harry would know what to do._ The thought comes unbidden, and it makes something inside of him _hurt._

Harry would help him.

He takes another few steps. It’s up to his chest and he’s still burning! He growls in frustration.

Harry would tell him to come back.

Harry would tell him to stop.

_Harry’s not burning._

Harry would forgive him.

He takes a few more steps, and as the water laps gently over his head, suddenly he isn’t burning anymore, and he’s not thirsty, and finally, _finally,_ nothing hurts.


	20. If I could fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Blood, gore, violence, death (minor characters), drowning (please ask me if this worries you, check the tags for major warnings - they are all in there)

It’s an ending, of sorts.

It could stop now, with Louis gone and the world over.

And maybe it should.

But then, what’s one side of the story, without the other?

 

***

 

There’s a man. A skinny, tanned, ragged man with torn clothes and haunted eyes. He moves like a nervous animal; all quick movements and light feet. He talks like every word is precious. He acts like every second counts.

He says his name’s Louis.

He shouldn’t be here, it isn’t safe. Harry wants him gone.

\--

Louis tries to run and Harry wants to help him, but Simon’s watching too closely and he can’t take the risk. There’s something not right at the second compound, and Harry has to choose; Louis or Lux, it isn’t a hard decision.

His betrayal is as sickening as the crunch of Louis’ broken ribs.

Harry’ll make it up to him.

\--

Louis is gentle. He’s gentle and kind and sweet and sarcastic and Harry should never have let himself get involved.

He shouldn’t be here in Harry’s rooms. It’s too much risk.

He’s going to find out…

\--

And he does. Louis finds out everything, and Harry’s as relived as he is afraid. He can’t let him leave now. He should end this.

But it’s Louis, and he’s soft and sharp at the same time. He’s wild hair and careful words and cautious smiles.

He plays with Lux.

Harry can’t breathe.

\--

He lets Louis go.

Niall’s gone, and Harry can’t bear to lose anyone else, but they argue him down, and now Louis’ gone.

His rooms are quiet, and Lux’s laughter is muted, and the walls are dark. It’s not the same, and Harry tries not to let himself think that they might not come back. Louis doesn’t have to after all. He doesn’t really owe them anything.  

\--

But Louis comes back.

He comes back with more injuries than when he left and stories about monsters and without Liam.

But Louis _comes back_ , and he brings Niall, and it really is too late for Harry now, because he used to have one person to love, and now he has two. Harry wants to gather them up and take them somewhere safe. He just wants everyone to be safe.

But it’s not over.

\--

And now Lux is gone. She’s gone, and Louis is hurt again, and Harry is breaking apart, and for a second Harry thinks—but no, Louis is too strong to succumb. He’s just thirsty.

\--

He’s not just thirsty.

\--

Lux, Louis.

Harry doesn’t know what to do.

All around them, Simon's patients writhe, lying in their beds with rolling eyes and open mouths, making that same dry gasping sound that Harry can’t bear to think about.

And Louis – Harry stares at the spot where Louis had stood just moments before. Where he’d stood, shaking and sweating and fighting to keep his focus. Giving everything he could to explain.

 _What if it were the only way?_ Louis had said. And Harry had shouted at him.

His legs start to tremble.

“Louis!” His throat is raw, and his voice is rough. He’s on his knees straddling Greg, working with Liam to pin the struggling man to the ground. There’s the taste of blood in his mouth, only he doesn’t know where it’s from. His nose maybe?

Harry doesn’t know what to _do_.

Greg bucks his weight and Harry's gaze is torn from the doorway as Louis staggers through it, down the corridor and away. His hands slam onto the hard floor, and behind him, Liam presses Greg's legs down, fighting for control.

“Louis!!” Harry bellows again, but it's too late.

Zayn sprints towards them, skidding to a stop and lending his weight. “I told him to go! Harry-- He needs to get to Simon!”

Harry screws his eyes shut, sucking in air between his teeth. Louis' gone, Lux's gone, and Harry doesn't know what to do.

The world is going to hell around him, and Harry’s supposed to be in charge. His legs are trembling and his stomach is clenching. The hollow pit in his chest grows; threatening to tear him in two and leave nothing but empty halves behind.

“Simon's got the antidote – Harry, he'll be all right.” Zayn pants out.

Harry nods. “He'll be ok. He’ll be ok.” He feels the words hang heavily in the air, but it helps a little. “Zayn, Lux, what about Lux? Is she safe? Is she here?”

“She’s not here.”

“She’s at the second compound?” A twinge of fear curls in his chest, and he pushes it away. The _hospital_ compound. There is no second compound, only the hospital, and there’s no healthy breeding program, just these tortured souls that Simon’s holding captive. Harry shudders.

“She’s at my house, with our doctor.” Zayn reaches out and squeezes his arm, and Harry tries to remind himself that Zayn _saved_ Lux. That Zayn has been trying to save all of these people, the ones here in this room, the ones still struggling.

“But she doesn’t—Zayn, she’s never been outside the compound!”

\--

_Louis opens his eyes._

_Green and Grey._

_Silt rises up from the bottom of the lake and swirls around his head, washing grit into his eyes, his nose, across his cheeks and over his tongue. He gulps in a mouthful, and another, and another. The water’s cold in his stomach and a comforting weight over his head, but there’s still something wrong._

_Inside his chest, a spark fires._

_His lungs are too hot._

\--

All around them, the room is starting to settle, but Harry can't block out the desperate sobs from their group; the sudden wrenching cries as someone recognises a friend.

 _What if it were the only way?_ Louis had said.

Harry can’t bear to think about it. What if it _were_ the only way? Would Harry sacrifice their species for this? If this is where Lux came from – would Harry sacrifice _her_?

His chest clenches as his overburdened mind bounces back and forth. He should go to Lux, find her; he'd promised he wouldn't leave her, she--

“You made it.” Harry jumps as Simon’s voice drops suddenly through the speakers. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

Louis; he must have reached Simon. Harry’s head is spinning. _Lux. Louis._

“She’s ok Harry,” Zayn whispers again, “she’s not afraid, she thinks it’s a game, she knows you’re coming soon.”

Harry nods, shutting his eyes, sucking in slow breaths to puff out his stomach, his sides. _She’s ok._ He pulls the thought around himself; tries to let it steady him, tries to believe it.

“Not looking so good though are you? Pale, sweating, shivers. Your temperature must be pretty high by now. Tell me Louis, are you hallucinating yet?” Simon’s voice is smug.

_Louis, Lux._

“Zayn.” His voice is quiet, weak, and he shuts his mouth, unwilling to let the rest of the words out. _I’m don’t think I can do this._ It’s too much, it’s all too much.

\--

_The spark brightens in Louis’ chest, intensifying, growing. He should probably breathe soon, he’s starting to ache..._

_But he can’t come out of the water, he can’t. The feeling of burning is still heavy in his head, and now its fear that’s holding him under, and anyway he’s safe here, there are no creatures, no threats._

_His lungs are itching, itching and hot, and his memories are telling him he needs air, but his body’s screaming for water._

_Water._

_He can do that. He just needs to breathe._

\--

“Why me?” Louis’ voice is faint through the speakers, but at least Louis is still talking, still asking questions.

“He’s going to be alright.” Harry grits out, and Zayn squeezes his arm again, wide-eyed and nodding.

“I like you Louis. Ever since we tagged you I’ve been watching. You were such a little fighter, I knew you’d last the longest and you absolutely did. No one else managed even half the time. Call me sentimental but I was proud of you.”

The sentence replays in Harry’s head. _Ever since we tagged you._

It hits him suddenly, shockingly, and Harry’s suddenly glad to be already on his knees. His ears rush, drowning out the voice in the speakers. Beneath him, Greg twitches.

_No one else managed even half the time._

Harry squeezes his eyes shut at a sudden influx of memories.

When he was younger, Harry used to collect things. They were nothing specific, and that was probably why his sister had always teased him so mercilessly about it; they were just – _things._

He’d had a bracelet from his first festival – Leeds, 2011, a pink flamingo shirt that he’d worn once to a Pink Floyd concert and had never been brave enough to wear again, and he’d had six polished rocks that he’d taken from the beach on his one and only attempt at surfing.

Memories, he’d called them. Junk, his sister had teased.

And while the flamingo shirt was now lost in the torn shell of London, and the rocks were carefully decorating his sister’s final resting place, he’d never quite shaken the habit.

Which is why, when he met Louis – clever, cautious, untrusting, strong, brave Louis – he’d taken something from him. Something small; just in case they lost each other, just a tiny reminder… because somehow, knowing Louis had _changed_ Harry. Somehow, meeting Louis had made him braver, stronger, had made him a better leader, and Harry needed a reminder of that.

Just the tiniest, smallest, most unimportant thing for his collection; a ball of tinfoil.

A paralyzing, all consuming wave of remorse washes over him.

Simon had taken everything when he’d destroyed Louis’ compound – every possession, every friend. He’d made sure Louis was isolated, made sure he was afraid, watched and waited while he struggled, while he starved.

He’d left Louis with almost nothing, and somehow, despite everything, Louis had endured; hanging on to life by his fingertips and somehow hanging on to his sanity in the process. Every meal was earned, every possession fought for… and _somehow_ , with callous, ignorant disregard, Harry had managed to take some of the only things he had left. His freedom. His freedom, and that tiny, unimportant ball of tinfoil.

Tears burn at the back of Harry’s eyes, and he hangs his head.

Louis is going to be ok. They’ll cure him, and take care of him, and then Harry’s going to give him back everything he’s taken. Starting with the tiny, silver, feather-light ball that’s burning a hole in his pocket.

He takes a deep breath, the decision settling something in him. He’ll let Louis go. He’ll give him food, provisions, everything he needs to get to wherever he was going. And maybe somehow, if Harry deserves it, if he _earns_ it, maybe Louis will come back.

_He’s going to be ok._

There’s the crackle of Louis’ voice through the speakers, but Harry can’t make them out. A hot tear runs down his cheek. “He’ll be ok.” Harry mutters, but the words don’t help this time.

_They’ll both be ok. Lux is safe, and Louis is going to get better._

Another tear rolls down. Harry doesn’t know how he’s supposed to do this – this constant roller coaster of fear and panic and pain.

Movement from behind startles him, pulling him back to the present, but when Harry turns it’s only Liam, nodding with his sad, brown eyes. “He will. He’ll be all right.” Liam agrees, but Harry can hear the tightness in his voice.

Harry nods anyway, pretending that tears aren’t streaming down his face, pretending that his voice isn’t shaky and thick. “He’s strong. He won’t give up now.” His voice cracks. “Not after everything he’s been through.”

He shuts his eyes, trying not to let the images come – Louis, trembling and staring into an empty corner, Louis muttering angrily at something that wasn’t there.

Had he even known he’d been talking?

Harry’s muscles flex, but there’s nothing to fight. Nothing he can do.

Behind him Liam shifts. “He didn’t—He—“ Liam swallows. “He’s quite far along, isn’t he?”

“He--” A sob crawls up his throat and Harry swallows it back down, pushes it under the blanket of guilt that’s been slowly settling over him, that’s been slowly cutting off his air and leaving him gasping. Louis had been succumbing, all this time, every mention of water, every hastily emptied bottle. Louis had been dying, and Harry had been carrying the only cure around with him for the last two days, and he’d done nothing.

“A while.” He says finally; another sob threatening to rise up and tear him apart. _You’ve seen him. You’ve seen how far along he is._ “He’s been drinking a lot – I don’t think he realised how much. I just—I thought it was because of his injuries. Reem told me to make sure he ate and drank enough.”

He’s been so stupid. He hadn’t wanted to believe that he might lose Louis, so he hadn’t let himself face the facts. He’d missed the signs, _and now Louis’ dying and there’s nothing I can do._

Harry chokes, coughing against his tight chest, coughing against the drip, drip of blood from his nose. Louis is dying, and it’s Harry’s fault. Lux is lost, and it’s Harry’s fault.

He wrenches his head up, forcing himself to look over at the beds.

Greg’s sister is being tortured. And it’s all. Harry’s. Fault.

Harry sits; stock still where he’s still straddling Greg, pinning him to the ground so that he can’t rip the straps off his sister like he was trying to. Harry sits, as his mind tumbles over and over, finally reaching its limit. Harry sits, as he finally surrenders to the crushing fear.

And through it all, Simon’s still talking.

\--

_He can’t do it. Louis can’t breathe in the water. Harry’s voice is in his head, morphing into Liam’s, into his mother’s, into his eldest sister. Stop. Don’t._

_He kicks, twisting to the side, searching for the bottom of the lake, but he’s drifted out somehow, and he can’t find it._

_Something wraps around his arm and it’s heavy, and burns like a brand. He yells; a stream of bubbles forcing out of his mouth as it pulls him down, tugging him under._

_Louis twists and kicks, tearing at the monster that’s wrapping round him._

_Please, please!_

_Tears track down his cheeks; more heat to add to the fire, and Louis doesn’t want to die! He doesn’t want to drown!_

_Please!_

\--

_“Please.”_

Louis’ cracked voice echoes through the speakers.

It crashes through to Harry’s chest, into his rib cage, down to the tips of his fingers and the ends of his toes.

It wakes him up, pulls him back.

_Louis!_

Harry can still do this, Harry can still save him.

“Oh Louis,” Simons’ voice is smug, patronizing. “You’re so important to me. All of you. Each and every one of you matters, and do you know why?”

Harry’s breath catches, and a sudden veil of rage slams in front of his eyes, crushing the grief, ripping through the hopelessness. Harry’s thoughts are shards of glass.

_How. Dare. You._

_How dare you do this to us and then pretend that we matter!_

Beside him, Zayn and Liam still lend their weight, pinning down Greg as the rest of their terrified compounds huddle around them, grouping together, instinctively shying away from the beds.

Beneath them Greg’s sobbing, and Harry knows the name that’s on his lips.

_Jessica._

Jessica. Greg’s sister.

_How dare you, Simon._

He risks a glance over, and his hands itch to help, to save her, to do something, but there’s nothing they can do.

In the bed across the room she strains against her restraints, and there’s nothing of the lively excitable person in there that he recognises. Her short brown hair hangs in patchy strands and her features are bloated and twisted beyond recognition into a grimacing mask. There’s nothing sane in her eyes, nothing human.

Grief rises back up in his throat, this time for every lost soul strapped to a bed.

_How. Dare. You!_

“Because you’re the only ones left, Louis.” Simon’s words echo through the room.

In the beds, the patients wail out their rough cries.

Behind him, Liam shifts. “What does he mean?”

Harry shakes his head, pulling his thoughts back, trying to focus, replaying the words in his head. They’re the only ones left?

In the compound? Clearly. In the area?

He frowns.

“Between here and the hospital.” He says finally, the realization making his heart stutter and his veins run cold– _It can’t be, it can’t_ —but in some terrible way, it makes sense. They hadn’t seen anyone on the way there. Not a single soul. They could be the only ones for miles around.

How could this have happened? When had it gotten this bad?

“Maybe--”

The speakers crackle back to life. “Did you think I’d go to all this trouble for nothing? Do you understand how terrifying it’s been? Watching them all die one after the other? My compounds, my armies? There are sixty three people in young Harry’s compound.”

Harry’s shaking, and suddenly he finds he doesn’t want to know. He’s terrified to know.

“Sixty four counting you Louis.” Simon continues. ”Five guards to help me with the patients. Forty three at my own compound, and me. One hundred and twelve people Louis. Sixty women and fifty two men. That’s all we could find. Everyone south of Birmingham.”

The words drip slowly into his head, leaching away all sound, all colour as they slowly register.

_What?_

No. That can’t be right, that can’t be—

_What?_

Inside Harry’s chest, something breaks.

_What?_

Harry’s heartbeats are measuring time, stretching out in endless thuds in between the echoes of Simon’s words, punctuating his sentences like a war drum.

_Everyone south of Birmingham._

Harry drags in a breath.

The movie’s frozen. It must be frozen. They’re watching this, and it’s not real, and it’s frozen.

Why else would there be no sound? Why else would there be no movement?

The room is silent, eerie, and Harry’s mind is floating, lost in the world of make believe that’s being forced upon them.

The speakers crackle. “This parasite _doesn’t stop_ Louis. It _never stops_. It’ll take us all, one by one, every last person until we’re extinct. I think that’s worth a little immorality. I think that’s worth a little torture.”

Harry sucks in a breath.

Inside Harry’s head, something breaks.

He looks around the beds as the sounds of struggling patients rush back to him. This can’t be real, and if it’s not real, then it must be something else. It’s a puzzle then?

He nods. A logic puzzle.

Or maybe it’s philosophy? Harry’s always had difficulty telling the difference, but he understands this now, he can finally see that crystal clear thought that Louis had been trying to tell him and he’d been trying to ignore.

 _What if it were the only way?_ Louis had said.

_You have five families left, and only enough food for four. The only way to keep the species going is to sacrifice one family. What do you do?_

Harry remembers his lecturer saying it, so he must be dreaming. He’s in a lecture, that’s all. Anthropology of Ethics and Morality, third year course. He’s fallen asleep. He does that sometimes.

_There’s a disease. Millions of people could die, and only one person has the cure, but they refuse to give it to you. Is torture warranted?_

He’d probably been out the night before. There’d been a guy, he remembers, someone pretty and cheeky with the bluest blue eyes.

_Is torture warranted?_

Harry thinks he’d said ‘no’ to that one, but it feels like a long time ago.

The speakers crackle. “You can’t do this to people.” Louis says.

_Louis, Lux._

It’s not a puzzle. It’s not a lecture, or a dream, or a movie. Awareness slams back into him, and with it, a hollow, chocking fear, but he shuts his eyes, fighting against it.

He’s not asleep, he shakes his head. But it can’t be real, surely it can’t be real.

The air is heavy, and it’s getting thicker. The weight of thoughts filling the room, rushing to the corners, blocking up the spaces, squeezing the breath out of them.

 _Is torture warranted?_ His lecturer asks.

There’s a crunch in the pit of his stomach where the question sits, and the answer is crawling up his throat before he can even breathe.

 _Is torture warranted??_ His lecturer asks.

“Nothing’s worth this.” Harry answers.

Silence.

But then—Harry turns at the intake of breath.

_Ameeta._

“But if this is the only way… don’t we owe it to our species to keep it going?” She whispers.

A ripple runs through the room, gathering in strength, gathering in ferocity. The peace cracks. The peace shatters. Sound and panic and rage and fear rush in as the world unfreezes and Harry finally has to face the truth. His chest twists.

_What if it were the only way._

He can’t deal with this, he can’t be a leader, he can’t make these decisions. It isn’t fair! He shuts his eyes. “No.” His legs are shaking almost as much as his voice, but he’s supposed to be in charge, he should say something. Shouldn’t he say something? “Nothing’s worth this.”

“So what, you want us to sit back and let our species go extinct? When we know we don’t have to? So all these people Simon’s been working with will have died for nothing?” Her voice is tight, angry.

There’s a pained growl from the side and Harry spins to face it. “Working _with?_ ” Zayn spits out.

Now his arms are shaking.

“Maybe they agreed to it?” Someone says, and Harry may not recognise the voice but he recognises the desperation.

“They didn’t!” Someone else shouts, and sound is picking up now, stretching a new tension, tugging and pulling at their huddle.

“You don’t know that!”

“Neither do you!”

“I didn’t--”

The speakers crackle. “It’s the only way Louis. It’s ok for people to know now. Now that it’s the only way. It’s this or extinction. Hiding it isn’t going to work anymore.”

“It’s the only way.” Someone echoes.

The speakers barely pick up Louis’ whispered reply; “Then maybe we should all die.”

Silence follows the words, dead silence, and Harry can feel the tension stretch, like a tightly wound band.

The speakers crackle. “And maybe, people need to decide that for themselves.” Harry can hear the smile in Simon’s voice and it makes his stomach churn. “I wonder what they think?”

Now his whole body is shaking. The speakers go dead.

 _Drip_.

There’s a saline bag in the corner of the room with a leak. Louis had been staring at it, unable to tear his eyes away. The sound of it is drilling into Harry’s head.

 _Drip_.

“He’s giving us the decision.” Tracy breathes.

Harry had forgotten she was here. He’d forgotten anyone was here.

“We can’t leave them like this.” Someone else says, and Harry watches it all mutely as one by one the voices grow steadily louder, until it’s a jumble of conversations, rising, stretching, bending, and he can see what’s about to happen, like a train racing down the track, but somehow he can’t stop it.

“We can’t kill them!”

“I didn’t say that!”

“He should never have done this!”

“Then what are we supposed to do with them!?”

“Simon let us decide!”

“You--”

“We could cure them?!”

“Stop arguing.” Harry whispers.

“How the fuck are we supposed to cure them, they can’t be cured, we should kill them!”

“Murderer!”

“Torturer!”

“Monster!”

“Stop it!” Harry shouts.

“Didn’t you hear him? There’s no-one fucking left!”

“So now it’s ok to go around killing people?!”

“We can’t just leave them here! We can’t keep them like this!”

“We--”

“Stop arguing!!” His voice is gruff, desperate, but Harry can see it all playing out; all that grief, all that fear, Harry can feel the panic translating into aggression, and he can see the tension stretch, stretch, stretch.

“We should ask Simon!”

Break.

“Simon fucking did this, we should kill him!”

“No!”

“We should kill Simon!”

Someone stumbles, pushing into someone else. There are too many of them, too tightly huddled, too angry, too new to each other, the two compounds, standing in the centre of all that torture.

“No!!”

“We have to kill him!” Someone pushes back.

Harry jumps to his feet, and maybe it’s an accident – bad timing in an even worse situation, but as he turns, a fist slams into the side of his face, rocking him, sending him stumbling into someone else. He feels his elbow connect with a head, and then someone’s pushing his back, and he’s flying into someone else.

“I’m gonna kill him--”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!!!!”

“I--”

An elbow rams into Harry’s jaw, and he’s falling, he’s on his knees, he’s dodging kicks and stamping boots.

“Greg!!!” _Liam._

Harry looks around to where Liam’s staring hopelessly through the door.

“Harry I couldn’t hold him!” Liam shouts.

“It’s ok! Liam’s it’s--”

“Harry I--!”

“It’s ok Liam!”

“Harry! Harry, look ou--”

Something hard slams into the side of Harry’s head.

 _Oh._ Harry thinks, as his vision fades out.

\--

_No! No!_

_Louis twists from side to side, jerking against the creature that’s holding him down. His head breaches the surface, and he sucks in a desperate gulping breath, but the air is so hot that it sears his throat._

_Another vicious twist and Louis wrenches himself away, pain chasing down his arm in a scalding brand. Water slams up to meet him as he leaps forwards, flooding into his nose and mouth, and it’s like life coming back to him, like salvation._

_Louis dives beneath the surface and breathes._

\--

“Harry, Harry!” Liam’s shaking him, and there’s chaos going on above him.

“Harry get up!” Zayn this time, dragging him by the arm, and Harry lets himself be pulled to his feet.

His head is a little fuzzy, but he’s ok.

The fighting’s started to spread out, some groups dividing into individual arguments, and Harry has a moment to think that they can handle this, they can break up the fights, make a calm and rational decision – before the far doors fly open.

The doors they’d come through, the doors to the rest of the hospital, the doors to the patients that Simon’s guards had released. They’ve found them.

 _It must have been the noise that brought them_. Harry thinks dimly; desperation turning to aggression and leaving the patients with nothing but the frantic need to watch red run along the floor. Simon’s own patients robbed of their sanity from the combination of parasite and cyanide eating away at their brains.

Harry stares over in horror at their mutilated bodies. One, two, three--

They come crashing in, one after the other; stumbling, snapping, clawing and biting at each other, but always, inexorably, insatiably drawn towards fresher prey.

Four, five, six, seven—

And snapping at their heels, the poisoned dogs follow behind them.

_They’ll kill us. They’ll kill everyone._

They head for the beds first, and Harry doesn’t even think before he’s moving. At his side, Liam sprints with him, and all around, the fighting starts to relocate, some rushing to save the pregnant women, some still running at each other, and others just running.

Harry’s dizzy with fear when he reaches the first of them, but there’s a wide-eyed patient, twisting and jerking in the bed next to it, and he can’t let her die this way. The creature bursts the saline bag first, and for a second it falls to the floor with the cascade of fluid, but it’s not enough, and it’s on its feet and stretching for her.

Harry doesn’t think. He doesn’t let himself feel the slippery, loose skin draped over sharp bone and sinew as he pins its arms. He doesn’t let himself smell unwashed skin and blood and urine and rotting teeth, as he looks into its face. He pushes away every piece of this poor, desperate person that’s trying to crawl into his senses.

_This is a person. It’s a person._

“Sir? Please stop! Sir? Please!” Harry holds its arms, staring into those desperate eyes, and sees no one.

He recoils in a panic; letting his hands drop, taking a desperate step back. “Sir?” He whispers.

There’s a second where he thinks the man might have heard him, the briefest, sharpest flash of hope.

It launches itself at him.

Harry scrambles back, but the saline has made the floor slippery and he falls, his back slamming against the hard cement, knocking the breath out of him. He expects the man to fall on him, to rip and tear with clawed fingers, but he’s already turning towards the next bed as Harry scrambles for purchase.

As he turns, one of the dogs launches itself at him; teeth bared and claws out, and Harry twists quickly, using its own weight to send it thudding into the wall with a crunch.

Harry’s stomach clenches with guilt, and he tries to remind himself that the dog was trying to kill him, that it was dangerous, but he can’t stop the nausea from rolling through him.

Harry never wanted to hurt anyone. He never wanted to hurt anything. His legs shake. How had they come to this?  

Beside him, the man has reached the next bed. _Guilt can come later._

Harry jumps up off the floor, sprinting to get in front of him, cutting him off before he reaches anyone else.

“No.” Harry grits out. “No!”

He slips again, reaching out to steady himself but only succeeding in tearing another saline bag. The fluid pours over him, covering his head and his eyes and leaving him gasping, spitting the salty taste from his mouth as he crashes to the floor.

The man falls on him; hooked fingers heading for Harry’s face, his mouth. “No!” He shoves him back, pushing hard with his hands, bringing his legs up to kick it with both boots in the chest. Something cracks, and it goes down, gasping.

_No._

Somewhere beyond the doors the dogs are barking again, and Harry knows what’s coming –more of those starved, tortured beasts.

No wonder Louis had been terrified. It’s too much, it’s all too much.

Panic starts to rise in his chest as he stares at Simon’s patients, Simon’s _experiments_. How many of them are left? These poor, tortured— _creatures._ How many mindless succumbed patients are out in the hallway, how many starved, desperate dogs?

Is this what Simon is going to do to Louis? To Niall? Was he going to do this to all of them?

Harry’s gaze sweeps the room again, and this time it catches on something.

_Louis?_

Harry stares over at tangled, sandy brown hair and too-thin limbs.

It’s Louis; standing in the doorway, Louis; panting, sweating, bleeding. His face is grey and his eyes are wide. His pupils are blown, and his eyes are lost, staring down at the broken body of a patient on the floor.

Harry shakes his head, blinking, but he’s still there. His breath catches. _He’s here. He’s actually here._ Fear hollows his stomach, leaving him gasping. Louis’ here. But he’s not better, he’s not himself.

“Louis?”

Louis twitches, his hands coming up, his head moving far too slowly. His thin wrists are shaking, and his fingers are moving back and forth, weaving through the air, flexing like he’s playing an imaginary piano.

A sudden panic hits Harry. Louis is here and he isn’t better. This might be Harry’s last chance. This might be his only chance. He needs to get to him. He needs to save him!

“You! You did this!” Someone’s running towards Louis, someone from Harry’s own compound, he thinks, and he jumps to his feet, but he isn’t going to be fast enough, he isn’t going to get there in time. A fist slams into Louis’ head, and Harry flinches back, recoiling from the shock of it, but Louis doesn’t go down, and that’s all the encouragement Harry needs.

He sprints forwards, and he’s still too far away, but suddenly Liam’s there, knocking the attacker out of the way, catching Louis’ face between his hands, and _yes_! Harry holds his breath. Liam can do it. Liam can get through to him.

He can do it. Harry knows he can.

Liam moves to the side, and Harry’s bubble of hope bursts as he finally gets a clear glimpse at Louis’ eyes. There’s nothing there. Harry’s gut churns. There’s nothing in the smaller man’s eyes but panic.

“Louis!” Harry shouts again, desperate, and now he’s running with all he’s got, but there are bodies on the floor, and mindless succumbed patients clawing at him as he goes. His stomach turns as a dog falls onto the patient Harry had been fighting, bearing him down with a wet crack of bone between teeth.

He can’t do this.

Behind Liam, the man he’d knocked down is regaining his feet – Dan, Harry recognises, but it doesn’t help. He’s meters away as the man springs forwards, knocking Liam down, and Louis is already running, weaving his slight frame between patients and compound members alike, dodging dogs expertly.

Harry never stood a chance.

“Louis!” Harry screams, as he disappears into the fray. “Louis!”

Harry spins, he’s gone, Louis’ gone!

“Zayn I’ve lost him!” Harry yells, tears cutting hot lines down his cheeks. “Zayn!”

“Who?”

“Louis! He was here! He was right here!”

There’s another crunch as another dog joins the first in tearing apart the patient, and Harry wants to help but he doesn’t know how. Tears stream down his face, and he gags as the smell of ruptured intestines reaches him. He’s too late anyway. He’s always too late.

Barking and snarls fill the air, mixing with the screams of the healthy fighters and the screeching of Simon’s patients.

The dark haired man spins, and Harry wonders if he looks so desperate, if there’s that same frantic pain in his own eyes.

“We need to get to Simon, Simon can find him!” Zayn shouts back, fighting his way through the crowd. “Simon can track him.”

“Where is he?”

“I’ll take you!”

“But we can’t—Zayn, we can’t leave here! All these people--”

Harry turns again, his eyes sweeping the wreckage.

“Harry there’s nothing we can do!”

He stares across the room, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. It’s the dogs, his exhausted mind supplies. Perhaps they were looking for easy prey, or perhaps it’s something else that Harry doesn’t understand, but everywhere he looks, those wretched, tortured dogs are tearing into Simon’s mutilated patients, leaving the women in the beds, leaving the healthy people.

“It’s ok!” Harry jumps as Ameeta’s voice comes through the air, and Harry suddenly realises that they’re fighting together, that they’re united again now that they have something else to fight against. “Harry, go! We can deal with the dogs!”

 

Harry surveys the wreckage of blood and fluid and bodies, her words ringing in his ears. He’s supposed to be in charge, but now Ameeta’s shouting at people, bringing them to order, coordinated them, giving them purpose. And Liam’s running around the survivors, Tracy in tow, checking for injuries. And as he stares around the room, Simon’s five guards finally come rushing in with their healthy dogs at their sides.

He takes a step back.

There’s nothing he can do here.

“Harry?” Zayn calls from the doorway.

Harry nods.

\--

_Louis curls over himself as his lungs fill with water._

_It hurts. It hurts more than anything he’s felt before and it doesn’t make sense it isn’t supposed to hurt. Water isn’t supposed to…_

\--

“This way, Harry this way.” Zayn tugs at his arm, and he lets himself be pulled.

Harry’s stomach is churning. Should he have stayed to help? He’s supposed to be the leader. Maybe he should go back? Maybe he should—

“Oh god.” They stop abruptly, Harry stumbling forwards, off balance. Zayn’s voice is hollow.

There’s a microphone on the desk, and it’s clear that this is where they were – Simon and Louis, here in this room. There’s blood on the floor, and Harry cranes his neck to see around Zayn’s still form.

“Simon?” His body seizes. There’s so much blood.

But it’s Simon. Harry would recognise him anywhere.

He doesn’t need to look for a pulse to see it isn’t there, but he does it anyway.

There’s no pulse.

Harry sucks in a breath, shock, blocking out his thoughts, turning them to static.

_Simon._

The air is thick with the smell of blood, and for some reason all he can think is _we’ll have to clean this up._

It’s stupid. Harry shakes his head, and he can feel tears sliding down his face again. He must have been crying all day. He must have been crying since his family died, years ago – there doesn’t seem much point in stopping now.

He stares down at the mess on the floor, trying to make sense of it, sucking in shallow breaths through his nose.

Simon isn’t supposed to die. Simon’s the oldest of all of them, he’s survived everything, he organised everything. Harry’s in charge, but Simon’s _In Charge_. He tells them what to do, he tells them it’s going to be all right.

Harry shivers.

He stares down and curses himself that somehow he’s still sad to lose this man, that even after all Simon’s done, there’s a part of Harry that’s grieving for him.

He stares until his chest starts to ache, until he has to look away to the rest of the room.

There’s something green, blinking in the corner.

“Zayn?” His voice sounds strange in the quiet space, the sounds of shouting patients strangely muted as they filter down the corridor. “Zayn, what’s that?”

“What?” Zayn mutters, his eyes still trained on Simon.

“That.” Harry rests a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, waiting for the man to finally look away. “Zayn,” he tugs gently until the man’s eyes are on his, “what’s that?” He nods to the dot.

\--

_…hurt! Water isn’t supposed to hurt! The pain intensifies, like pins in his chest, stabbing, pushing, aching._

_Something wraps around his arm again and more tears run down Louis’ face. No, please. It isn’t supposed to end this way._

_Something slams into his back, every crushing blow sending white sparks skittering across his grey vision._

_Something’s pulling at him again, some monster dragging him backwards, dragging him down, but Louis isn’t about to give up, he’s come too fucking far to give up. Louis spins his body and sinks his teeth into it._

_Louis fights. He fights and he twists and he turns, but it’s too much, and he’s too hurt, and as the creature finally pulls him down, pinning his arms and legs, Louis’ vision goes black._

_\--_

\--

It’s a proximity sensor.

Harry holds one of the portable radio trackers in his hand as he runs frantically through the hospital, following the signal, following it to Louis. The fighting’s finally settled, and with it, the shock’s beginning to sink in. They’ll have to work out what to do with all of Simon’s patients, but later, much later, when they’ve had time to process.

The sensor beeps once. _He’s outside the hospital._

Harry pushes through doors, taking Tracy’s advice to head for the fire escapes and take any stairs down that he can find. It feels like years ago that they’d run together, searching for Simon. It can only have been hours at most. He shivers, pushing back his saline-wet hair.

Signs of fighting are everywhere; blood on the floors, on the walls, around one corner there’s a single arm that sends a rush of dizzying nausea through him, and further along, the rest of the body. How many patients had Simon had here? How many had he set free in the halls to rip each other apart? Harry lets the horror push him along, feels the adrenaline pounding through his body in time with his feet.

 _Adrenaline._ He feels sick.

The sensor beeps again, and Harry darts down a stairwell. One of their other teams must have cleared it. _They’re safe._ He tells himself. _Everyone’s safe._

He’s left Zayn, Liam, and Ameeta organizing the teams that are searching the hospital for the antidotes, Harry’s going for Louis, the guards are helping to restrain the escaped patients, and Lux is at Zayn’s house with the doctor. They’ll be ok. Everyone’s going to be ok.

_Please be ok._

Harry’s tears finally dry as he bursts out into the open air and spins slowly, letting the radio tracker do its work.

Single beep.

Single beep.

Two beeps. Harry runs.

Everyone’s going to be ok.

\--

Brambles tear at Harry’s jeans and branches whip at his face and that stupid tin foil is still burning a hole in his pocket.

He’ll give it back. If Louis makes it, he’ll give it back, he’ll let him go, he’ll do anything Louis wants. Anything.

_Louis, please be ok._

He’s heading in the right direction, he’s sure of it, but he can’t hear anything. No sounds of movement, no sight of Louis.

His free hand drops to his pocket. _Please don’t let this be the only thing I have left of him. Please._ He couldn’t bear it. Not again.

Louis can’t be far. How long had they spent with Simon’s body – five minutes? Ten? _And Louis is injured_ , Harry reminds himself. He’s injured and slow, and he’s still the strongest person Harry’s ever known.

_He’ll be ok._

He’ll be ok, and Harry will give him back his tin foil, and Louis will smirk about how silly and sentimental Harry was being, or perhaps he’ll just nod in understanding? He’s kind, Harry knows, before anything else, Louis is kind. Maybe he’ll even smile – one of those tiny gentle smiles that Harry saw him giving Lux once, that Harry thought he might have even seen aimed towards himself?

His heart clenches. He wants to know how Louis will react. He needs to know.

The beeping’s getting faster now, three beeps, four beeps, continuous beeps. He’s here. He must be here. There’s a glint of water in the late afternoon light and Harry throws himself forwards.

“Lou!” His throat is raw from shouting, but it carries in the silence. “Louis!”

He can see more now; a strip of water between the trees, a lake maybe, or a large pond, and in the middle, Harry can see Louis.

“Louis!”

Maybe Louis hesitates, maybe he stops for just a fraction of a second, but Harry’s too far away, and all he can do is watch and run and Louis’ head sinks under the water.

“Louis!!!”

No! He isn’t allowed to die!

With a last burst of speed he’s out of the trees and splashing into the water, desperately wading towards the centre.

“Louis! Lou! Lou!”

The water is heaving with the strange, frantic movements of Louis’ body as the man twists and turns, his legs kicking at the bottom of the lake as if he’s fighting himself. As Harry launches himself forwards, Louis finally stills.

No, No!

Harry throws himself forwards, swimming out desperately, latching on to Louis’ thin arm and pulling, dragging him backwards with every muscle he has.

“Louis!”

Louis’ head breaches the water, and he’s sucking in shallow breaths, his body flinching and shuddering as if the air itself is poison. He twists again, his body spinning unnaturally and his arm popping with a desperate crack as his shoulder slips out of its socket.

Harry lets go, jumping backwards in a panic as Louis sinks back beneath the water.

_His arm. His arm. Oh god. What have I done?_

Harry can feel his heart splintering, pieces of him falling away, scattering into the cold clear water, dancing in silver sparks across the surface.

He’d been trying to help. He’s always trying to help, and Harry’s failed. He’s failed again, and all that’s left is his empty chest and a stupid fucking ball of tin foil.

Louis twitches once, twice, and goes still.

Adrenaline slams back into Harry, sending flying forwards. He wraps his arms around Louis’ waist, tugging and pulling and hauling him out of the dirty lake. They’re two meters from the shore, one, half, and then they’re out, but Louis isn’t moving and he isn’t breathing. He isn’t breathing!

Harry spins him over, ignoring the blood seeping from Louis’ torn stitches and the arm that’s hanging limply from its socket. With shaking arms, Harrys thumps hard against Louis’ back, flinching each time. _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry._ Still nothing, and again; nothing; and now his whole body is shaking, and his eyes are ugly and red from tears and he’s sobbing out giant hiccupping breaths.

 _No please, please! Not now!_ Louis isn’t allowed to die. He’s supposed to be there when they rescue Lux so she can see that her new friend is still there. Harry feels a surge of anger. He isn’t allowed to leave them! It isn’t fair to her! Everyone leaves them, it isn’t fair!

Louis’ body is limp, and Harry can’t bear to see him die this way, he can’t bear it. With a heavy palm he slams his hand against Louis’ back, rubbing and hitting and shaking, and there’s nothing, and there’s still nothing, and Harry’s heart is breaking, it’s breaking and it’s broken and Harry’s broken and there’s nothing left of him, just an empty shell of a useless leader and Harry thinks he might be losing his mind.

There’s water in Harry’s eyes and he can’t suck in a breath through the sobs and he keeps slamming his hand against Louis’ back but now he’s the one who can’t breathe, and is this how Louis felt? Is this what he’s been going through? The sobs come faster, and faster, and Harry thinks he might die along with Louis, but then suddenly, impossibly, there’s movement, and sound, and Harry’s head is spinning and confused.

“Louis?! Louis?!!”

Louis wrenches sideways in his arms, coughing and vomiting out lake water tinged with pink, and Harry jumps forwards, wrapping his arms around Louis’ over-heated frame, pinning Louis against himself, holding him down as his struggles start up again, and there’s something rising in Harry, some bubble of hope and grief and pain and relief all rolled into one, and hot tears are rushing down his face as he nuzzles his head against Louis’ struggling shoulder, and as Louis turns and sinks his teeth deep into Harry’s arm, the feeling bubbles up and over, and as Louis finally falls unconscious, Harry starts to laugh.

_It’s going to be ok._


	21. Home

The wind is cold as Harry kneels, but the boy in his lap is burning.

Time slips past, and he doesn’t know how long he stares, but Harry fights to keep his mind carefully blank.

The boy in his lap turns to look at him.

_Louis._

Hope fills his chest and bursts into nothing in one smooth motion. Louis’ eyes drift over Harry’s face, but they’re empty, vacant. Harry wonders if he’s staring at the water in Harry’s hair, running down his cheeks, clinging to his eyelashes. As Harry watches, Louis turns away and starts to crawl mindlessly towards the lake.

“Louis?” Harry’s voice is tiny. “Louis, please don’t. Louis?”

Louis’ hands are in the water, and then his elbows, and then his knees before Harry finally jumps to action. He wraps his arms around Louis’ middle, wincing at the harsh line of the man’s ribs and tugs him backwards. They fall together onto the cold ground; Louis’ back a hot weight against Harry’s chest.

“Louis, please, Louis?” Harry can feel the too-thin body shaking above him, and Louis’ dislocated arm hangs limply at his side. “Louis please say something?” Harry loosens his grip, waiting, but the man only pants quietly. “You need to come back Lou, please? For all of us, not just for me.”

Harry doesn’t know why he’s still talking; he’s not expecting an answer _._

He tucks his chin over Louis’ trembling shoulder. “Don’t leave me Lou.” He whispers. “We can’t lose anyone else. Anyway, the others really like you. I promise Lou, Ed thinks you’re funny, and Reem thinks you’re strong, and Nick called you ‘cute for a mountain man’, which is pretty amazing coming from him, and Lux-- you can’t leave Lux, Lou. You just can’t.” Harry’s voice catches and he stops for breath.

All around, the wind tugs at the trees. Harry breaths out slowly, relaxing his arms. “I’ve been so scared Lou. I don’t want to lose you, I’ve only just found you, so you have to be ok, alright?” He moves a hand, stroking it gently down Louis’ over-heated side. He’s rambling, he knows he’s rambling. “But, I mean—you aren’t trapped or anything, ok? I know I’ve got you right now, and I’m so, so sorry, but when you’re better I mean, you aren’t trapped here. Not anymore. No one’s going to stop you if you want to go.”

Louis is calm in his arms, and Harry lets his arms drop. “Lou?” He whispers hopefully.

Louis jumps to his feet and bolts towards the water.

\--

And now Louis won’t stop moving.

Harry blinks away the fresh tears in his eyes. His legs are tingling, and his muscles are burning but he can’t let go, Louis needs him.

He’s hauled the man out of the water for the second time, cringing every time Louis’ dislocated shoulder swings unnaturally, and now he’s holding him down; sitting on his legs and pinning his good arm. Louis’ eyes are rolling in his head as his back arches.

“Lou shhh, Louis you’re going to be ok, just hang on.” The platitudes don’t ease the cold weight in his stomach.

Harry shivers, unclenching his muscles for a second as Louis pauses and draws in a few shaky breaths.

Harry’s jumper is soaked and heavy and his jeans are clinging to his legs and the wind is so, so cold, but beneath him, Louis is still burning. Harry lets his shoulders drop and rests his forehead against Louis’ chest. The man’s putting out heat like a furnace, and Harry has never wished for someone to be frozen in his arms before, but he wishes for it now.

He can’t bear it. He can’t bear Louis’ struggling breaths or the pained noises every time his injured arm moves. He’s still now, but it won’t last. There’s blood on the man’s chest where his stitches have ripped, and the same arm that’s hanging loose from his shoulder is decorated with canine teeth marks and broken skin.

And impossibly, he’s still fighting.

_You can do this._

Dimly, Harry wonders if maybe that’s why he’s so drawn to the man.

Harry takes a shaky breath. “You’ll be be ok, Lou. You will. You’re so strong. I can’t believe how strong you are. God, you’ve been through so much—You’re gunna be ok. We’ll get you the antidote, and we’ll pick up Lux and we’ll go home. You don’t need to worry about anything anymore Lou, it’s all going to be ok. We can decide what to do together. We--”

His voice catches and his throat tightens, and Harry coughs out a sob, tilting his head to rest his cheek against Louis’ fever-hot skin. “You’re going to be ok.” He whispers. “Please be ok.”

He screws his eyes shut, but the tears keep coming; hot and stinging, mingling with the lake water that’s wetting his face. “Please.”

Louis twists suddenly, nearly bucking Harry off, and Harry sits up with renewed panic. “Stop it! Lou, stop it! Stop!”

Louis’ eyes are still rolling and vacant, and it tightens Harry’s chest, sending spikes of fear through him. The smaller man is almost silent in his struggles – only twisting and turning in his fight to get free.

“Lou stop it!” Harry chokes out, fear stealing his voice.

It isn’t right. Harry grits his teeth as the panic suddenly morphs into a wave of anger; ripping through his exhausted mind. How can this be right? Louis has fought so hard! It isn’t fair!

Harry drops his weight fully, pinning the smaller man to the ground and searching his face desperately, but there’s nothing he can recognise in those blue eyes.

He chokes out another sob. This isn’t Louis. Louis is cautious curiosity and dry humour and quiet strength, he’s cheeky and generous and humble and enduring. This isn’t Louis!

Harry shivers as the wind picks up, mirroring the chaos in his chest, tossing branches around carelessly and stirring up the hard forest floor.

Something crashes behind him, and more branches fall, and leaves rustle, and suddenly Harry realises that it’s not the wind, and he can hear movement and footfalls and that there are people rushing through the bushes.

He lifts his head in alarm, searching the trees desperately.

“Harry!”

His heart is in his mouth and he’s so dizzy he can’t see. _Liam_. The relief that sweeps through him is like an electric current.

“Liam!” His voice is rough and shaky and he clears his throat, taking a few slow breaths. “Liam! We’re over here! Liam! I’ve got him!” He cranes his neck desperately. _Please. Please._

“Harry? Harry!” And now it’s Zayn shouting out through the trees, Harry turns towards the sound and finally he can see them – two dark shapes crashing towards him.

_Please._

He holds his breath, waiting, waiting, and then there’s a rush of air and movement and he can smell blood and sweat and dirt and there’s a plastic bottle being waved in front of his face and Harry’s shaking so hard that he can’t even reach for it.

“Harry! Harry we’ve got the antidote! We found it! We’ve got it!”

And then Zayn’s behind him helping to pin Louis’ legs and Liam’s uncapping the bottle and another sob escapes Harry as he collapses to the side, curling around Louis’ struggling body, tucking his nose into his tangled, wet hair as all the fight goes out of him and the world turns quiet. “We’ve got the antidote Lou.” Harry whispers, exhaustedly. He kisses the side of Louis’ head. “You’ll be ok.”

 

***

 

Louis is confused.

There's heat, and water, and heat, and pain, and cold, and pain.

And then there's Niall.

\--

There's crying.

It's his family, Louis thinks, but then maybe it's not.

\--

There's a flash of blonde, after that, and a burst of laughter, and then quiet talking and a weight in his hand.

And then there's more talking, endless talking, and Louis is floating in grey and mist and sometimes he feels pain, and other times he feels nothing at all, and sometimes there’s crying, and other times there’s silence.

\--

And slowly, slowly, everything starts to fade, and Louis lets out a breath.

\--

But then there’s more crying, and suddenly Louis thinks that maybe he’s not ok with that? Maybe he wants the crying to stop?

He _does_ want the crying to stop.

He _needs_ the crying to stop.

He can’t bear it. He can’t listen to it. He never could stand by while somebody cried.

So he takes the breath back, and the crying hesitates.

But it doesn’t stop, it hasn’t stopped.

So he sucks in another breath, and another, and it _hurts_. It hurts so much, and he’s so tired, but the crying has stopped, so Louis keeps doing it.

\--

“—don’t—Lou – please?”

Everything hurts. _Lou._ A memory tugs at Louis, but he doesn’t know what it is, he can’t grasp it, and the pain is making everything foggy.

There’s more grey, and then something strokes across his forehead, trailing water over his skin.

 _Water. No. No!_ He twists, but he can’t get away, and he can’t understand why water’s bad, but it is. He knows it is. It’s wet. It’s bad.

He twists again and suddenly the pain’s gone and the fog swirls back up and then he’s back to feeling nothing.

\--

“—ouis? –Can –me?”

There’s Niall.

Louis doesn’t understand it, but the man’s everywhere. Blonde hair in his dreams. Blonde hair in front of his eyes.

\--

“Louis?”

And there’s Harry. Louis sees him a lot – long hair moving in and out of his vision.

Sometimes it hurts, and Louis wonders if maybe he survived, and he’s slowly dying. Other times, there’s no pain, and Louis thinks that maybe he’s already dead. On those days he’s sad to see Harry. He hasn’t seen Lux though, so at least she might be alive.

There’s more water, this time on his lips, and he’s so thirsty, so very thirsty, but water’s bad, isn’t it?

“N--” His voice isn’t working, and he jerks himself back, but it sends a wave of feeling through him, and it’s too much to process, and then there’s water dripping down his neck, down his chest, and he tries to shout but his voice isn’t working and more of the silent grey rushes up to swallow him.

\--

There’s no more water after that, but something soft and spongey is put into Louis’ mouth sometimes, and then there’s wet trickling down his throat, but it’s not on his head, and it’s not touching his face. He thinks it might be ok.

\--

“Louis, can you hear me?”

Louis is cold.

He’s cold, and it’s the best feeling in the world. He never wants to be warm again.

He shivers, and suddenly there’s a hand on his forehead and then a loud exhale.

The hand moves away. “Looks like your temperature’s coming down, let’s get you a blanket shall we?” The voice sounds kind, but he doesn’t know it, and before he can say anything there’s something heavy pressing onto his body, weighing him down, pinning his arms.

He tries to push it away, but his arms aren’t working, and he’s starting to get warm, no he’s getting hot, and he doesn’t want to be hot, he’ll burn, he can’t burn, he doesn’t want to burn!

He rolls his body to the side and yelps as it sends shooting pains down his arms and neck, and he tries to spin back, but he’s trapped and it hurts and his vision is starting to fade out again.

And then suddenly there’s a new voice, and it’s shouting to ‘ _Take it off him!’,_ and it’s a voice he knows, and the weight is gone and the cold rushes back and the relief makes his eyes water.

“He doesn’t like the blankets, they upset him, he likes to be cold.” The voice is calmer now, and it’s sinking into his bones, helping him to relax. “It’s ok Lou, just go back to sleep, I’ve got you.”

He thinks he hears an apology from someone, but he’s so tired and he isn’t hot anymore so he lets his eyes fall shut and sinks back into the grey.

\--

There’s pain again. A lot of pain, and a sort of sickening sense of movement, and Louis’ ears are ringing with whispered apologies.

And then it stops.

_Am I dead?_

 

***

 

The blonde haired man’s chest moves slowly, each breath sleep-heavy and soothing.

Niall.

The name comes to him suddenly as Louis stares over at him.

_It’s Niall._

Louis turns his head to stare at the light grey ceiling. Niall being here isn’t helping his chances of being alive.

Then again, death looks an awful lot like Harry’s living room.

Only there’s a second bed next to him. With Niall in it.

Or maybe, ghost Niall?

Blue eyes blink slowly open, and a careful grin spreads across the face of the figure that might be Niall.

“You’re looking better.” The voice has an Irish lilt to it.

Louis stares. His head is too heavy to nod, so he huffs, his breath slipping out in a quiet grunt.

“Sucks doesn’t it?”

Louis frowns. What sucks? Being dead? Is this Niall’s way of telling him he’s dead?

“Pretty sure the movies said cyanide’s supposed to be painless.”

 _Cyanide?_ Louis shuts his eyes. Cyanide.

Broken shreds of memory tease him; something about a ruined jaw, something about cyanide. Another blonde dances in front of his eyes, and he gets the urge to giggle. _Bond. James Bond._ There’s a memory maybe, something about cyanide tearing away a man’s face?

Was that what happened? Had Louis lost his face? He tries to bring up his hands, but his arms aren’t moving. But, no… Louis moves his jaw carefully from side to side. That can’t be right.

Not real then, a film—that’s right, it was a film. Louis opens his eyes – had he shut them? He must have shut them. Niall’s still lying there, jaw intact. _Definitely a film._ He should watch it again sometime.

“Or maybe they just had more painkillers back then.”

Oh, of course. The world ended, didn’t it? No more films then.

Bits and pieces are coming back to Louis, and it’s painfully familiar, _pun intended._ But that must mean—he’s alive?

Niall is frowning at him seriously, and Louis has a moment of panic that they actually _are_ dead, and Niall’s just working up the courage to tell him, but it passes quickly as the man nods.

“I reckon you’re still a bit out of it aren’t ya Louis?”

Louis snorts, and it hurts, but Niall grins and he thinks it was probably worth it.

“All right mate, let’s see if we can communicate. One blink for no, two for yes?”

Louis’ eyes keep falling shut, and he tries to force them to move for him, but he isn’t sure if it worked.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

_Hah._

“Do you know where you are?”

_Two blinks._

Harry’s rooms. He’s probably in that bloody nightie again. What had Lux called it? The sick dress?

Louis winces.

“Ah, that’s good!” Niall grins. “You remember Harry’s rooms?”

_Two blinks._

He remembers.

Niall’s grin widens. “Harry’s here. He’s been taking care of us, but there’s a lot of other stuff to be done. Lux is here too, but Harry’s taking her with him these days- introducing her to everyone. I think he’s worried she might jump on you if he leaves her here.”

Louis flexes his toes, wincing at the sparks of pain that shoot through him. It’s probably for the best, that.

“He wouldn’t let her see you until the doc said you’d be ok. I wasn’t awake for most of it, but if it was worse than how you look now, it can’t have been great. Sorry mate, your looks have taken a bit of a beating. We’ll get you sorted though, soon enough. There’ll be a few of us going through rehab.”

Louis looks at him more carefully, his vision a little cloudy, but when he focuses he can just about make out the hollow cheeks and grey tint to the man’s skin.

_Two blinks._

“Right, what else. You know they found Liam right?”

Louis hesitates. Maybe he isn’t remembering everything--? He thinks—he thinks he probably had known that, but it’s all so blurry. He’s frowning, and he can’t remember what happened, and he doesn’t know how he got here, and weren’t there monsters? Dogs? There was water wasn’t there? He was burning?!

“Louis?” Niall frowns. “Liam’s fine, he-- Ah shit, I’m sorry mate, I’m doing this all wrong aren’t I? Listen, we’re in Harry’s rooms, you’ve been out for six days, Harry’s here, Lux is here, Liam’s safe, ok? You’re safe.”

_Safe._

The panic leaves him as quickly as it arrived, his body too exhausted to hold on to it.

_Safe._

Louis shuts his eyes to blink, and when he opens them again Niall’s sitting up, and there are long shadows where there weren’t before.

“Lou?” Another voice, Harry’s voice, but Louis’ eyes have fallen shut again, and all he can do is nudge his cheek into the hand that drops down to brush against it. “Hey Lou.” Harry whispers.

And then there are footsteps, and this time there’s a heavy hand on his ankle, and a different voice. “Welcome back mate.”

_Liam._

And then there are more footsteps; light, quiet footsteps, and two tiny hands reach up and grip his palm, and another voice, this one curious, excited, small. “Lou-e?”

_We did it._

Louis smiles as he slips into sleep.

\--

It’s strange to know that he’s free. Louis thinks he should feel more about it, but it’s just – strange. He’s not sure he believes it. The curtains are open, the door’s unlocked… he’s not a prisoner anymore. It’s a victory maybe, but it doesn’t feel like one.

It’s not like he could leave anyway. His arm reminds him daily that it’s recently been pulled from its socket, and his chest and ribs have never really had the chance to recover.

The pain is constant; sometimes aching, sometimes stabbing, but Louis is glad of it. It takes his mind off the shadows that move in the corners of his eyes, from the dryness in his throat. Phantom echoes that chase him in his sleep. There’s a bang from outside and his heart races.

His eyes dart around the familiar room, searching for a distraction.

“The window’s open.” Louis’ voice is rough, but Niall’s been encouraging him to try and use it.

“He speaks!”

Louis glares. Maybe next time he won’t bother.

Niall laughs beside him, glee abruptly morphing into a wince. “Oww.” Niall pauses, shuffling to sit himself up. “‘suppose I deserved that.”

Louis snorts. “Window.” He prompts.

“Ah right. It’s on account of Lux.”

 _Lux?_ Louis shakes his head, confused.

“Well she’s not had much chance to go outside, ‘specially not in daylight, so Harry’s letting her have the windows open.” Niall pauses and shrugs. “And of course, someone’s allergic to being warm.” He says carefully.

Louis flinches. He’s not burning anymore, and that’s what matters. He shivers, grateful for every gust of cold air that tugs at the open curtains. “You only succumbed f’ five minutes.”

There’s an affronted snort from the next bed over. “Ah so that’s how it’s going to be? I get you to talk and this is how you repay me?” The blonde is smiling his wide smile and Louis thinks that they all might be a little giddy because somehow they’re _all alive._

His lips quirk up.

“And he smiles!”

“Who’s smiling?” Harry putters quietly across the room, grinning widely, and something in Louis’ chest catches. He stops when he’s next to the bed, one knuckle dropping down to brush the curve of Louis’ lips. “You’re smiling Lou?” He mutters.

Louis’ smile inches up as warmth tingles down his neck.

“You’re looking better.”

Louis nods, his lips twitching.

“Well--” Harry grins, shaking his head. “Let’s get you sat up then. Doctor Niall, some assistance?”

“I’m recovering!”

“Nonsense, all that lazing around’s no good for you. Time you got back to work.”

Niall huffs and throws back the covers, slowly spinning his legs over the edge of the bed.

Louis stares.

He’s in the nightie.

He’s in the lacy, Victorian-style nightie.

Louis’ smile widens, and inside his head, tiny figures perform an elaborate victory dance. Niall’s in the sick dress. Niall’s in the sick dress, and that means that Louis isn’t.

“Shut up you.” Niall pokes a finger at him. “Just wait for it.”

Louis snorts again. _Wait._ All he ever does is wait. He is the fucking Olympic champion of waiting. Even when he doesn’t know what he’s waiting for.

Harry carefully pulls Niall to his feet.

“I’m up!” Niall starts to wobble. “I’m not up! Hazza save me!”

More warmth tingles through Louis’ chest as Harry gently lowers the Irishman back down onto his bed with a chuckle. “Maybe not today then.” Louis can hear the smile in Harry’s voice. “But you did really well, good job Niall!”

“You realise I’m not three, right Hazza?”

Harry grins, turning away as Niall rearranges himself on the bed. “Looks like it’s just you and me then Lou.”

Louis grits his teeth as Harry leans forwards, the man’s long hair brushing Louis’ cheek. It smells clean, and Louis has to fight the urge to bury his nose in it.

“After three Lou.” Harry’s lips brush the shell of his ear and he shivers.

“One, two,” Louis takes a deep breath as Harry counts.

“Three.” Louis whispers back.

Harry’s arms are strong as he slots one behind Louis’ back, gently pulling him up and back, and Louis takes a deep breath as he’s settled against the pillows. He’s up! He’s actually sitting up! His vision is a little spotty, and his head is spinning, but he’s upright!

“You did it Lou.” Harry whispers, pressing a gentle kiss onto Louis’ cheek.

Warmth floods through him, and his smile widens.

“Ok, seeing as you’re up, shall we try a drink?”

Harry darts away, still smiling and jogging back a moment later with two mugs. He sets one down on the table and then heads purposefully towards Louis.

“You first Lou, you’re probably a bit dehydrated.”

 _Dehydrated._ Louis’ thoughts start to slow. He swallows thickly, finally focusing on his body, letting in the feelings that he’s been so carefully blocking out.

He’s thirsty.

His throat feels thick and his body aches and he’s so thirsty.

It sends a hot flush of adrenaline through him, and his heart speeds up.

In the corner of the room, something moves. Another wave of heat floods through him, scalding, and he’s so thirsty.

Something cool presses to his lips, and that’s ok, but then it tilts and there’s water, and he’s too hot and thirsty and he wants it but he can’t have water, he’s supposed to be better, he doesn’t want to die, and the water splashes against his lips and he slams them together, and then there’s water splashing onto his chin and dripping down his chest and he’s not supposed to be wet! He doesn’t want to be wet, he doesn’t want it!

He tries to move away but he’s too heavy, and he’s drowning, wet and thirsty and trapped under the water, and he holds his breath desperately, his chest starting to throb and his head spinning.

_Can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t drown._

And someone’s shouting at him, and there are hands on him and it’s the same as before and Louis remembers the pain and he doesn’t want it!

And then suddenly there’s no weight on his chest, and no hands, and there’s cold air on his bare arms.

“Louis can you hear me? You need to breathe. Louis you’re in our rooms, you’re safe. You’re healthy. You’re not drowning. You’re ok. You need to breathe.”

The voice keeps going, and Louis latches onto it.

“Louis you’re safe. You’re lying on a bed, can you feel it? You’re on a bed and you need to breathe. Can you breathe?”

His lips are pressed shut, and his head is swimming, but Louis shifts slightly, and it’s… soft. It’s not the forest floor. It’s not wet.

“Louis you’re in our rooms. You’re lying on a bed, it’s soft. There are blankets on your legs. There’s a chair just by your hand.”

Louis’ hand reaches out and bumps into something. It’s hard. It’s plastic. It’s cold.

He’s in Harry’s rooms.

Louis sucks in a breath, and it feels strange, but it feels ok, so he takes another one, and he coughs, and this time there’s no water, so he does it again.

He’s in Harry’s rooms. He’s not drowning. He’s in Harry’s rooms.

“Louis you’re ok. You’re safe. You’re here.”

 _I’m here._ Louis looks up, letting his eyes focus, and there’s the grey tile of the ceiling. _I’m still here._

His pulse is racing, but his breathing is starting to even out.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers.

“Lou, it’s ok. It’s understandable.”

Louis shakes his head.

“Lou, look at me. I’m going to need you to trust me on this.”

Louis keeps his eyes trained firmly on the ceiling.

“Lou,” Harry’s voice is slow and cautious. “Can I touch you?”

His skin feels a little like it doesn’t belong to him, and his heart is still racing, but Louis is so tired of being afraid, and maybe it’s not the best idea, but he nods.

Harry’s hand grazes carefully down his arm, and he’s using his knuckles, stroking gently, and _oh._ He is here. He’s safe. He’s with Harry, and this is real.

He takes a slow shaky breath. He’s not ok. But there are people here who need him to try, so he clears his throat. “Try again?”

“I—are you sure? We can try to make a straw out of something.”

Louis shakes his head carefully, still looking at the ceiling. “Again.”

“Ok Lou.” Harry whispers, slowly bringing the mug towards him. “We’ll try again. Can you think of anything that might help?”

Louis opens his mouth to say no, but then—“Your voice.”

Harry smiles.

\--

They try again, and this time Louis focuses on the mug as it presses cold and heavy against his lips, blocking out the feeling in his body. He focuses on Harry’s voice, letting it ground him, reminding him where he is. He focuses on the soft mattress beneath him, and the scratch of the sheets.

The water is cold, and that makes it easier, and once he’s holding the mug securely Harry pulls his blankets off that the breeze from the open window is biting at his legs. It sends cold shivers through him, and that helps too. He sips carefully as his heart finally starts to slow down.

Harry smiles again. “Good work Lou.” He takes the mug back when it’s finally empty and carefully lowers it to the floor.

Louis hasn’t had much use for embarrassment these past years, but his sudden outburst has left him feeling flushed and shaky, and he still can’t bring himself to look over at where Harry’s taking Niall his own mug.

“Louis, it’s ok.” Niall’s lilting voice filters through the quiet. “It’s not like you’re alone here. Didn’t you wonder why we’ve got mugs and not glasses?”

Louis shakes his head. He hadn’t, why would he?

Niall huffs self depreciatingly. “That one’s on me mate, I can’t stand to see that water. Dunno what I’ll do when it rains. Don’t know why either, I never made it to a lake or anything, and the heat was worse than the thirst. To be honest Lou, there’s a reason I’m ok with the windows being open in April. It’s bloody freezing in here, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Something warm takes root in Louis’ chest, and he finally allows himself to look over at the blonde. His eyes are sparkling, and beside him, Harry’s smiling.

On cue, a gust of cold air blows through the window and Louis shivers, opening his mouth, but Niall keeps going, a thread of mischief creeping into his voice.

“And you really should notice Louis, I mean, you’re not exactly dressed for it, if you know what I mean.”

Louis frowns at their grinning faces. He’s in a blue t-shirt – the soft blue t-shirt that he’d ended up in the last time he was recovering here in fact. Harry’s t-shirt.

Harry’s grin widens.

Maybe the stress of it all has been too much for them? _It’s just a t-shirt._

“Wha…”

Harry grins and nods towards Louis’ uncovered legs.

Louis frowns and looks down and oh _._

_Oh._

He’s wearing a skirt.

A lacy, soft yellow skirt.

It matches.

“It’s for easier access Lou.” Harry’s face is the picture of innocence, and something tight and painful and tense finally uncoils from Louis, falling away and leaving him lighter.

“Easy access my arse.” Louis huffs.

Harry grins cheekily. “Exactly.”

_What—Oh._

_Oh._

Warmth spreads out, easing through him and brightening some spark that Louis had thought was long gone.

He raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Harry.” Louis taunts. ”All you had to do was ask.”

There’s a moment of silence, as Harry and Niall both stare in surprise, and then Niall is turning to grin up at Harry, and a flush is creeping up Harry’s neck.

And then Louis is snorting quietly, letting a slow smile creep over his face, and suddenly Niall’s snickering, and Harry starts to chuckle, and their laughing and they’re _alive_ and Louis feels better than he has in years.

\--

The days go by in a haze of recovery and sleep, and bit by bit, the world goes on.

Pain is a constant companion, but it keeps his mind off of other things; stops the memories from being overwhelming. Louis never thought he’d be grateful for pain before.

There are other problems though; he’s jumping at shadows and he’s hyper vigilant. Harry comes in and out occasionally, supplying Louis with quiet words and small touches and they help a little, relaxing him one muscle at a time.

Days pass quietly, and Louis finally realises that maybe Harry’s trying to give him space, only it just makes him nervous, and he’s trying to give him quiet, but that only leaves Louis with his thoughts, and eventually Louis can’t take it any more, and he breaks, and he confesses.

_I can’t take the silence._

And so they talk.

Louis learns that Simon’s creatures – the ones that the guards released – are all dead, most of them killed by the survivors during the fight, and those that ran outside had simply drowned. The pregnant creatures, he learns, are still there, being cared for by the guards. He tries not to think about it, but sometimes he imagines he hears the sound of sandpaper.

There’s a funeral service for all those who were lost, and Louis and Niall aren’t well enough to go, so Harry writes them a list of names of the dead. They spend the evening going through them, Niall telling Louis stories about the ones he knew, and Louis trading stories of his own old compound and the people he’s lost. It’s sad, and a bit strange, but by the end of it all Louis thinks they both might be better off.

After that, Liam comes to visit, and though the conversation is stilted and uncomfortable, Louis is glad of it. He thinks he might even forgive the man when he learns that Liam hadn’t known what was going on any more than he had, not until those last two days, and he hadn’t been working with Simon, not really.

“I didn’t know what to do.” He confesses to Louis one night after Niall’s fallen asleep. “I thought we’d lost him,” he nods over at the blonde, “and then Simon said he’d dosed everyone else as well and the only way to save you was to keep you all afraid. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Louis nods and reaches out to squeeze his hand.

After that things are better between them, and another weight falls from Louis’ shoulders.

Lux is in and out of their rooms, nervous around Liam at first, but warming up quickly, and Harry tells him that she still struggles with being outside in the daylight, but she’s getting used to it, and she’s ok as long as Harry or Zayn are there.

Louis doesn’t think he would trust Zayn with Lux, but he trusts Harry, so he keeps his thoughts to himself.

Days pass, and it’s familiar for Louis and yet different. It’s the same place, and the same people, but there are no secrets, and somehow it’s both happier, and much, much sadder. The first time Liam smiles at him again, carefree and happy, it hits Louis that _he_ did that, that maybe he has a place here, and when Harry sits beside him and slowly chokes out that Louis is free to go if he feels he needs to, Louis finally accepts that he doesn’t _want_ to.

Harry hands him back a tiny ball of tinfoil, confessing that he took it with a shaky tear that Louis doesn’t understand. He looks down at it, carefully – it’s been rolled up too tightly to be used again, as if Harry had understood that it was important, but not really why. He smiles down at it and squeezes Harry’s hand.  

Later, he has Lux gather some sturdy bits of twine, and the two of them weave a necklace around it that she wears proudly. His heart lifts when he catches Harry staring at it with a dopey smile.

A few days later, a new doctor is brought in, and Louis learns that the two compounds are living together temporarily whilst everyone heals. He also learns that Reem isn’t looking so good – the cyanide dose she was given was too much for her body, and she’s been comatose ever since.

“You can’t always tell how much is in a bottle.” Harry tells him and Niall quietly one evening, after Lux has been sent to bed and the twilight is flickering through the open curtains. “We’re mostly using apple pips, but you can’t tell how much is in each one. Maybe if Lou was still here--”

 _She was their chemist,_ Louis remembers.

The three of them wince, and Harry squeezes his hand before bidding them both goodnight and heading away.

It’s a heavy weight on the compound, the people that were lost, and Louis wonders if they’re talking about it, and if they’ve discussed what to do about those of them that are left. Once, he gathers up his courage and asks Harry, who shakes his head and mumbles something about a meeting. They’re going to have a meeting.

“When?” Louis asks.

“There are big decisions to make. We’re waiting until everyone can be there.” Harry replies gently, and it’s enough for Louis to work it out.

 _Me._ Niall’s not walking yet, but he’d be strong enough to go if he needed to. They’re waiting for _him_. It makes something warm settle in his chest.

A few days after that conversation, a nervous Zayn comes to visit, and Louis and Niall finally get to hear his side of the story.

“You should have told us.” Niall snaps at him, when he hears that Zayn had been trying to dtop(stop) Simon all along. “We would have listened.”

Zayn swallows nervously. “I didn’t think— _everyone_ trusted Simon. I thought if it came down to him against me--”

_We’re all strangers, really._

“You thought we wouldn’t believe you.” Liam mutters sadly, from where he’s sitting cross legged on Niall’s bed.

Behind Louis’ own bed, Harry stands silently.

After that the story comes out quickly, the five of them piecing it together with the help of Simon’s five guards. “They’re not settling in so well,” Harry tells Louis after his first meeting with them. “People are blaming them. Mostly they stay at the hospital, taking care of the patients.”

 _They should be blamed,_ Louis thinks spitefully, and then he feels guilty for hours afterwards, because they’ve all done terrible things in the name of survival, and what would Louis have done if someone he trusted had told him it was the right thing to do?

“They thought it was the only way,” Harry told him, “in the beginning”.

In the beginning, the government had set up crisis centres, and Simon himself was just an ordinary worker, somewhere in the middle of the hierarchy, giving orders certainly, but not much else.

They never found out what his previous occupation had been, but the man had taken to organizing like it was in his blood.

But then more and more people had died, chipping away at their power structure, and it had been Simon who’d understood what was important: transport and communication.

Simon had swept in with confidence and began gathering resources – both materials and people. He’d made sure that he knew everything that was going on, trying to cut off problems before they happened, setting up experiments, arranging his staff to be trained with practical skills. He’d understood power, and perhaps more importantly, Simon had understood people.

When there had been hope, he’d used his institutes as a beacon, welcoming people and promising safety and a future. When hope had run out, he’d used his institutes as a threat. “People need something to fight against.” He’d told Zayn once.

Maybe it had even helped, for a while.

But as the population had continued to shrink, Simon’s methods became crueller and crueller in the name of Humanity. And one day, when they’d finally found a way to keep their species going and it was looking like they might be saved, something finally changed.

Because one day, a scientist called Lauren looked down at what she had done – at that first pregnant patient, screaming and desperate, and she’d decided that this wasn’t humanity. Humanity was already dead.

So she’d gone to her friend Zayn – one of the early volunteers who Simon had taken a shine to – and together they agreed to do something.

At first, they tried to bring more people to their cause, but Simon was the master of manipulation, and somehow no one ever stayed convinced for long.

So they waited. “It wasn’t easy.” Zayn confesses quietly. The room is silent, and lit only by moonlight. _Atmospheric,_ Louis thinks. “But we couldn’t risk Simon finding out our plans. It was horrible. We were waiting for enough of Simon’s supporters to die, and—we wanted them to die.” He admits it quietly – a thread of horror in his voice, and Louis finally lets himself forgive Zayn, because it’s clear that the man will never forgive himself.

He carries on with the story, and they learn that Simon had slowly merged his compounds together, splitting the people into groups. A few hundred he let live outside, farming and supplying him with the necessities. The majority, he kept in hospitals, experimenting on them in his quest for a cure, and a very small number, a number including Louis, were tagged with radio transmitters and left to fend for themselves.

“How did we not know?” Harry whispers.

“He didn’t want us to.” Niall replies, just as quietly. “He told us what we wanted to hear and we believed it.”

There’s silence, as the four of them are lost in thought until Zayn picks the story back up. “After that, Lux was born.” He tells them.

Lux had been born, and so Zayn and Lauren had put off their plans; just until she was a little older, just to be sure she would be safe. And for a few years they plotted and planned and watched as more and more people died, and then finally time ran out, and Zayn lost the one person who was keeping him going. He lost Lauren. “I should have done something then.” Zayn admits, and Louis thinks he can see him shaking. Harry sets a hand on the man’s arm. “I should have, but Lauren was dead, and I was so afraid. I couldn’t do it.”

Zayn had convinced himself to wait, and so he had, until Louis came.

“Louis was the tipping point.” Harry whispers, and Zayn nods.

“The experiments were so horrible, but no one new was coming in – or no one healthy at least, and I’d gotten used to it.” Zayn turns to him then and smiles sadly. “And then you came Louis, and I remembered that I’d promised Lauren that not one single person more would go into that hospital. Not like that.”

They all pause, lost in thought.

 _I’m sorry._ Louis thinks, but then he’s not really sure that he is.

Zayn clears his throat. “I thought the only way that people would listen was if they saw it for themselves. Some of the hospital compound – Ameeta’s people had started to succumb, and Simon had taken them. I told them their people were here.”

“You shouldn’t have.” Harry whispers.

“I know.”

“People died.” Liam’s voice is empty.

“I know.” Zayn’s voice is shaking. “I was wrong. I know that now. I didn’t think—I was desperate. And it’s worse…” _How can it be worse?_ “I think Simon was dosing his own compound. I think he might have been doing it all along, so that he always had people to experiment on.”

Louis feels sick, and he reaches out blindly with his hand until he finds Harry’s. Warm fingers wrap instantly around his. It helps, a little.

“You told me Simon was going to take Lux away.” Harry says, when the silence is starting to make Louis’ head throb.

“I wanted someone to come. I needed someone to see. I only had one chance – if Simon found out what I was trying to do he’d have killed me, so I tried everything. Ameeta wouldn’t have believed that Simon would take his own compound members, so I told her to come here, and I made it so that you would go there. I’m so sorry.”

“He experimented on me.” Niall whispers.

“I’m sorry.” Zayn chokes out, and Harry can hear the tears in his voice. “Niall I’m so sorry. I’ll never forgive myself, I--”

“Zayn, stop. Stop. I know mate, I know.”

“It was my fault. I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, and you made some shitty choices, but you’re no more to blame for what Simon did than we are for not knowing, or Louis is for being the catalyst. Zayn, Simon was to blame. Not us.”

Another weight falls from Louis, and he hadn’t even known it was there. He squeezes Harry’s hand.

The nightly talks continue for a few days, and Zayn learns that Simon had helped convince Ameeta to attack Harry’s compound as part of his ‘vaccination’ experiment. “I’ll kill him.” Zayn grits out.

“He’s already dead.” Harry whispers.

“It’s not enough.”

“I know.”

It’s not much, but after that, something settles in Zayn and Louis is grateful, if only for the affect it has on Harry, Liam and Niall. It’s taking time, but slowly they’re recovering. One night Louis wakes with a start to find Harry sprinting into his rooms.

“Lou? Louis?!”

“Harry?” Louis rolls onto his side and looks over, and Harry sags with relief.

“I thought—I dreamed--” Harry walks over and leans down to press a kiss to his cheek. “Sorry.” He stands for a moment, quietly looking from Louis to a still sleeping Niall. “It’s going to take some time isn’t it.”

“We’ll be ok.” Louis whispers back.

“We will. We’ll be ok.”

Louis offers his hand and Harry takes it and squeezes it, holding it against his chest for a moment.

“We’ll be ok.” Harry says again, and he presses a kiss to the back of Louis’ hand before he lets it go. “Night Lou.”

“Night Haz.” Lou whispers back.

One evening, Louis finds out that Greg has run away. “We don’t think he’s succumbed.” Liam says, after a day spent searching for him. “It seems like he couldn’t take the guilt. He blames himself for what happened.”

“He killed people.” Louis points out, and then feels guilty when he sees the three other wince.

After a long, painful conversation, Louis learns that Simon had taken the man’s sister. “We don’t know if she went looking, or if he just took her,” Harry says, “but Greg found out and Simon used it against him. He promised to let her go if Greg did what he asked. I don’t think he really understood what he was doing. Simon told him it was a vaccine, he didn’t know what would happen.”

They keep looking for Greg, but there’s no sign of him.

Time moves on, and slowly, the compound returns to normal, and then one evening, as April turns to May and Niall is walking short distances and Louis can stand on his own, Harry sits them down and tells them that it’s time to decide what to do with the rest of Simon’s patients.

“When?” Louis asks.

“Tomorrow.”

\--

Morning comes quickly, and somehow Louis finds he and Niall have gone from slowly helping each other wash and dress to waiting, silent and pale for Harry to collect them. They’re both perched on the edge of Louis’ bed, and the strain is making Louis’ head throb.

“What do you think we should do?” Niall’s usually cheery brogue is tight and quiet.

Louis shakes his head.

Niall sighs. “Harry should be here by now.”

They sit in silence a little longer, until the front door quietly clicks open and the man in question pokes his head round.

His face is blank, and it sends a shiver down Louis’ back, but some life comes back into his eyes when he glances over.

“I’ve brought you some presents.” His smile is weak, but it’s there at least.

Beside Louis, Niall perks up, a wide eyed expression on his face that Louis has remembered is curiosity. He’s getting good with faces now.

Harry pushes the door open and Louis leans forwards to get a better look. His eyes widen. How—

“Wheelchairs?” There’s incredulity in Niall’s voice, but his grin is widening and Louis can read the excitement on his face. “Where on earth did you find wheelchairs? I thought they were all gone? Simon said--”

The room abruptly turns sombre as Niall cuts himself off with a heavy sigh.

Louis snorts quietly. _Simon._ He watches silently while Harry wheels the two chairs into the room. There’s a suspicious reddish-brown stain on one of the arms.

Harry parks them both by the bed, and walks over to Louis as Niall starts the process of levering himself into one. “He was using them to move his patients around.”

Niall hesitates for a second, and Louis sees the exact second that he registers the blood.

The trip to the meeting is silent.

\--

“There are ninety seven of us left.” Harry’s voice shakes a little, but he keeps his calm. “And that’s not counting the twenty seven poor souls still in the hospital.”

Louis shivers in his chair.

Everyone’s there – gathered in the large space of the cafeteria; some standing, some sitting on chairs, some on tables. There are new faces, and a few that Louis already recognises. He trades cautious smiles with Ed, and gets a thumbs up from Nick; relieved to find the man healthy after their compounds had fought. He sees the child from the hospital compound – the one he’d injured – sitting in the corner, his arm still in a sling with their doctor beside him, and there are the three new babies in the back, drawing looks of fear, joy and longing in equal measure. There’s Little Lux, staring around the room with wide-eyed curiosity from her stronghold in Zayn’s arms.

There are people missing though – Reem, and Lou – and Louis can feel the absence of more, even if he can’t picture their faces.

Two of Simon’s five guards are there – the others still taking care of the women in the hospital, but they’ve asked to waive their right to vote, and it might not be the most useful response to the guilt they must feel, but they’ve made their choice.

“You all will have heard now what Simon said.” Harry pauses. “Everyone south of Birmingham is in this room. That’s half of England and Wales. Gone.”

A few sounds of protest flit around the room, and Harry nods. “As people have pointed out, we don’t know how much of this is true. There might be other places like here. There might be other survivors.” Harry hesitates, and Louis knows that this is the bit he’s been dreading. “We’ll have to decide what we do about that later. But this is not what today’s meeting is for.”

He glances over at Ameeta, and she steps forwards, picking up the speech, reminding Louis that she was in charge at the hospital compound.

She nods. “As Harry says, we have a bigger decision to make today, not just for ourselves, but for our entire species.” A quiet muttering starts up, and Louis glances around the room, noting the uneasy faces. “I know it’s a big responsibility, and we don’t know who else is out there, but for now, we’re the only ones left, and we have to decide what type of people we want to be.”

The muttering grows louder, and she steps back, giving the floor to Harry.

He smiles weakly at her, and when he turns back to the crowd, his face is the blank mask that Louis has come to know and dread. But for once, Louis is glad that Harry has some kind of defence, because this isn’t a conversation anyone should have to start.

Louis can see his chest moving, deep steadying breaths, and Harry takes a long pause before he finally speaks. “We have to decide what to do with the last of Simon’s patients.”

Louis had expected some kind of response, but the room is quiet.

Louis gazes round at the sea of silent faces. Some angry, some blank, some afraid.

“I--” Harry clears his throat, and his voice is weak, and shaky. “The plan is to discuss the possible options, and then put them to a vote…” He trails off. 

More silence.

Louis should help. He opens his mouth, not really sure what he’s going to say, but Harry takes a deep breath and seems to steel himself.

“We have a few options, as far as I can see.” He lets out a slow breath, and his shoulders settle and his spine straightens. “We can kill the patients now, ending their suffering and killing the unborn babies.” There are a few shouts from the crowd, and Harry holds up his hand. The noise stops.

“We could keep the patients alive.” Harry continues, and Louis thinks he sounds detached, as if he’s trying to disassociate from the situation. “Either just until the babies are born and then we kill the mothers, or indefinitely, continuing Simon’s program from the notes he left.”

This time there are no sounds from the group, and as Louis gazes around he can see almost every face staring at the floor. Against the wall, Lux has buried her head against Zayn’s chest, feeling the tension even if she can’t understand it.

“Or--” Harry finally glances over to Louis, and for just a second the mask slips, and Louis can see the desperate pain that the man must be feeling. “Or we give the patients the remainder of the antidote that Simon made and see what happens.”

 _Killing the unborn babies and probably killing the mothers._ Louis shudders.

The room is silent, as the options sink in. _Murderer or torture_? Louis thinks numbly.

_We can’t make this choice._

The pause stretches on, and the air is heavy, and Louis suddenly wonders if maybe they’re just going to stand here forever, because they _can’t_ make this decision.

“There’s another option.” The voice is quiet, and it’s a girl Louis doesn’t know who steps forwards. She’s young, maybe 18, maybe a little younger, and she’s from their own compound, he thinks. “I’d like to volunteer.”

“Sorry?” Ameeta calls gently from across the room.

“I’d like to volunteer.” Louder this time, firmer.

_This isn’t the Hunger Games._

The room is silent, and Louis can feel the thoughts, heavy in the air. _Volunteer for what?_

As if answering his mind, she steps forwards. “If I succumb--” she shakes her head, frowning, “if it happens to me, I don’t want the antidote, I want to volunteer myself.” She swallows, and Louis can hear it from across the room. “I want to volunteer myself for the breeding program. To keep our species alive.”

Louis’ heart is in his mouth, and he shakes his head automatically. They can’t do that to people, they can’t do that to anyone.

“Laura no.” Harry’s voice is loud and firm. “We can’t do that to you. It isn’t an option.”

 _Laura._ So many people he doesn’t know, so many faces and names and people and they’re healthy and alive. _You can’t._

“It’s my body.”

“I know but--”

“It’s my choice.”

“But--”

_You can’t. We can’t._

“Harry.” Ameeta interrupts quietly, her voice cutting off the murmurs of the crowd.

“It’s what she wants.”

“She doesn’t understand what she’s asking for! She didn’t see--”

Laura steps forwards, raising her voice. “I saw. Harry, I was there, I saw.”

“But you haven’t felt it.” A new voice chimes in, and Louis startles as Niall wheels himself forwards. “It’s like being burnt alive, and there’s no relief. Nothing at all, and you’re so thirsty you think you’re going to die from it, and then you want to die from it. And nothing helps. Nothing at all. You’ll feel like you’re losing your mind, and you’ll beg for death every day, for nine months. You can’t Laura, you can’t.”

She takes a step back, swallowing, her face grey. “Well then I guess we’ll have to find a way to make it easier.”

“There’s no--”

“Niall.” She puffs out air, her face tight. “Not now. Maybe not ever. But we need to do something, and I can do this. I want to do this.”

Louis wants to stop her, but he doesn’t know what else he can say, and he wants desperately to stop this conversation, but it needs to be said.

“You can take the antidote though. You can be cured.” Niall’s voice is desperate now, and Louis wonders how well the two of them know each other. It’s strange to think that he’s still so new. He doesn’t even know Harry’s full name.

“Like it cured Reem?” There’s a ripple of nerves through the crowd. “Like it cured Lou?”

“We don’t know what happened to Lou.”

“Niall.” She whispers. “It’s my choice. This is what I want. The antidote could kill me anyway. At least this way it won’t be for nothing, and we _need_ this. I’m volunteering, Niall. Those poor women Simon took, they didn’t get that chance. They didn’t choose this. Let me choose it so they don’t have to.”

Niall shuts his eyes and hangs his head, and Louis’ chest tightens.

_No._

Harry steps forwards, his eyes hard. “Laura, you--”

“Me too.” Louis breath catches as another woman steps forwards, and Louis recognises Perry, Perry who he’d talked to about washing machines on his first real day at the compound. “She’s right. Laura’s right.”

“And me.” This one he doesn’t know. Someone new, he thinks, someone from the hospital.

“And me.” The last voice is the loudest, and Louis doesn’t have to look up to see Tracy walking out of the crowd.

His heart sinks.

“Harry.” Tracy walks up to Harry then, reaching out to touch the man’s arm. “Harry this could be the only thing that can work. We know what we’re asking for.”

“You don’t.” Harry whispers, his eyes wide.

She nods. “Maybe not completely.” She concedes. “But Harry, people need hope.”

She turns then, and Harry follows her eyes to the very back of the room, to the three sleeping babies and to little Lux, where she cuddles quietly against Zayn.

“Everyone needs hope.” She whispers, and Louis shuts his eyes so he can’t see the tears running down Harry’s face.

\--

It’s evening when the gathering finally breaks up, and Lux has long fallen asleep in Liam’s arms. Zayn has wheeled Niall back to Harry’s rooms, and the rest of the survivors have broken away in groups to talk, or gone off separately to be alone with their thoughts.

They move silently along one of the lesser-used tracks; an unspoken agreement that they need to be alone for a while. The wind is cold, and the sharp sting reminds him that he’s cured, he’s alive. The sun is orange as it slowly sinks, casting shadows on the wispy clouds. Louis waits patiently as Harry finally shuffles to a stop, turning them both to look out over the first of the wheat fields. In the distance, Louis can see the shed that he’d locked Liam in when he’d tried to escape all those weeks ago. The memories are strange, like they belong to a different Louis.

“Did we make the right decision Lou?”

Louis jumps slightly, shaking his head to clear it, but when Harry frowns in concern hastily changes it to a nod.

The meeting had been painfully long; filled with discussion and arguments, and broken up only for food or drink, or when one of the little ones needed attention. They’d made a decision, finally:

The pregnant women would be kept as they were until they gave birth, and then given the antidote. Despite the one or two optimists, no one really expected them to recover, or even to survive, but they had to try.

_But it’s not over._

Louis shuts his eyes. “It’s what we voted for.”

“I know. But is it right?”

Louis sighs. “Nothing about this is right. But I think it’s the best we can do.”

Harry nods, staring out. “Do you think there are more of us out there?”

“I’d always thought--” Louis swallows heavily, pushing past the lump in his throat. “I always thought that my sisters might be out there. I thought they might be in a farm.”

Harry tangles their fingers together, and it helps Louis to find his voice.

“Everyone said farms were these big scary places where people were trapped.” He clears his throat, still unused to long sentences. “So when I didn’t see any other people, I just assumed they were all captured. I thought there were big prisons with thousands of people.” He looks down at his battered boots, dirty and scuffed. “I thought they’d be there.”

“I’m so sorry Lou.”

Louis shakes his head. “It was silly.”

“It wasn’t.”

“I’ve watched too many films.”

Harry smiles, and brings Louis’ hand up, pressing his lips against it gently. “Hope is never silly Lou.”

Louis smiles, the kiss warming more than just his hand.

“What do you hope for?” He whispers.

The last traces of orange dance across the sky, lighting Harry’s cautious smile. “Just little things, for now.” He drops to his knees beside Louis’ chair. “I hope that Lux gets used to all these people. I hope that the compounds can work together. I hope that the harvest this year is good.” He stares up at Louis, and there’s something else, something nervous in his expression. ”I hope I get to hear you laugh. I hope that someday you’ll let me kiss you.” Harry looks down. “I mean—if you want to.”

Warmth zips through Louis, tingling from the tips of his fingers, right down to his toes, making his blood fizz and his heart beat faster. He smiles.

“Harry?” Louis wraps his hand in Harry’s heavy jacket and tugs at him, and Harry falls forwards with a surprised squeak that makes Louis smile wider.

Something part brave and part reckless and all pre-word’s-end Louis washes up inside of him. “I think I can manage that.” He grins, pulling them together.

Harry’s lips are chapped and cold, and it makes Louis’ blood sing. It’s chaste, and sweet, and cautious on both their parts, and Harry tastes like clear air and new beginnings.

When they pull apart Harry’s grinning, and Louis can feel his mouth stretching to return it.

Harry sighs, a small, contented sound. “What did you hope for Lou?” His expression turns cautious, and he reaches out to stroke his knuckles down Louis’ arm. “I mean, besides finding your family?”

Louis shuts his eyes with the taste of Harry on his lips and thinks about the compound. He thinks about Lux, and Liam and Niall, about Zayn and Tracy and Ameeta. He thinks about Harry.

 _Family._ He’d hoped for family. And he may not have found _his_ family, but somehow, somewhere along the way, he had found _a_ family.

Louis smiles and squeezes Harry’s hand. “This.” He says finally. “I hoped for this.”

 

 

Though much is taken, much abides; and though

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

**Ulysses by Lord Alfred Tennyson**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it!
> 
> Thank you so much to [K](http://stonebled.tumblr.com/) for beta reading this, you seriously saved me so many times, this would be a much worse story without your input!
> 
> Please check out Claudia and her amazing artwork for this fic [here](http://claudiyah.tumblr.com/post/142875411045/with-a-whimper-133k-by-kitundercover-because)
> 
> And thank you so much to Morgan for making this amazing promo art that you can see [here](http://stonebled.tumblr.com/post/133553689256/acutelouiscrisis-with-a-whimper)
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has read / liked / commented, it means so much to me I can't even say. 
> 
> :) xx

**Author's Note:**

> My [tumblr.](http://kitundercover.tumblr.com/) Feel free to IM or ask me anything :) I'm very friendly and I require frequent distractions from real life.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [With a whimper](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10854672) by [Lady_Lina_Raspberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Lina_Raspberry/pseuds/Lady_Lina_Raspberry)




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